


Sirius Black and the Goblet of Fire

by JannaElizabeth93



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, goblet of fire - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2018-09-20 00:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9468200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JannaElizabeth93/pseuds/JannaElizabeth93
Summary: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, from the points of view of Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Cedric Diggory





	1. The Beach

There was sand in his ear, he was pretty sure.

 

Sirius twitched a hand in the vague direction of his earlobe, but didn’t manage to make contact. He huffed in mild frustration and dropped his hand back down into the sand by his hip.

 

He wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d been lying on this particular stretch of beach, in cutoff shorts made from jeans he’d stolen before he left England. The sun was baking his skin, he could feel it, and he wondered idly if he would burn.

 

The light glowed red against his closed eyelids, and he felt himself begin to drift off again.  The gentle roar of the waves crashing into the shore was soothing, somehow, and he had only a fleeting moment of concern for what Buckbeak was doing before he dozed off.

 

_“How much land do you people own, anyway?” Sirius asked as he followed a half-step behind James, who was striding with purpose across the lawn that sprawled around the Potter Manor in Devonshire._

 

_James snorted without looking up. “Listen, you’re a member of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families. You lot own half of Britain. You can leave me alone.”_

 

_“Not anymore,” muttered Sirius, casting his eyes down._

 

_James glanced back over his shoulder. “What’s that?”_

 

_“I said not anymore. I’m not a member of one of those families. Not anymore.”_

 

_James didn’t respond except to clap a hand to Sirius’s shoulder. It had been three days since Sirius had come to live with James and his family, two days since Remus and Peter had come, and Remus had finally forgiven Sirius for that Snape bullshit. Sirius promised himself that he would never take Remus for granted again._

 

_“Where are we going, anyway?” he asked eventually. “Your dad doesn’t want us leaving the grounds yet, yeah?”_

 

_James shrugged. “There’s a pond back here where me and my cousins go swimming every summer. I figured we might as well.”_

 

_Sirius raised his eyebrows. “We all stayed with you for a week last year, and you didn’t bring us here.”_

 

_“Wormtail is afraid of open water, remember?”_

 

_“...I did not remember that, actually.” Sirius snorted. “Why do we put up with him?”_

 

_“Shut up, Padfoot.”_

 

_They descended down a gentle slope in silence, and the pond came into view. Long, gnarled branches of a tree extended over the glassy surface, and a rope that Sirius suspected was at least as old as James dangled towards the reflection of the cloudless blue sky in the water._

 

_“Well.” James dropped the sack of sandwiches he’d begged from the kitchen house-elves. “I’m going in. You do what you want.”_

 

_Sirius grinned. “Race you.”_

 

_Immediately James tugged his T-shirt over his head, knocking his glasses askew. Sirius laughed and stripped down to his shorts, kicking off his shoes and hurtling towards the water a split second before James._

 

_Sirius found a rocky outcropping and leapt off it, yelling loudly as he plunged towards the pond’s still surface. The sound of his own splash was loud in his ears until the water swallowed him, cold and crisp against his skin, and he shook his hair out of his face and held his breath for as long as he could._

 

Sirius was woken by a loud splash off the beach, and blearily he opened one eye to watch Buckbeak surface from the waves, a brace of fish clutched tightly in his talons. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, sitting up slowly and glancing around. The beach was deserted, and anyway, he was on one of a handful of islands occupied almost exclusively by magical locals, who had made it Unplottable and doused it thoroughly in Muggle repelling charms. It only made sense that the Black family would own land here, in the middle of a colonizer’s wet dream. It gave Sirius some amused pleasure, thinking about his mother’s disgusted reaction to his camping out on an otherwise uninhabited plot of land that they owned just to own it.

 

“Oy!” he shouted, shading his eyes from the sun, and Buckbeak looked up in annoyance. “You! Get back here.”

 

With what looked like an irritated huff, the hippogriff fanned its wings and glided towards Sirius, who was now sitting up fully on the beach. As the hippogriff came in for a landing, Sirius scratched the sand out of his ear.

 

Buckbeak tossed the two fish down beside Sirius. “Thanks,” Sirius muttered, reaching out for them, just as the hippogriff pranced about and braced itself. “Oh -- no--” Sirius’s eyes widened. “Come on, don’t--”

 

The hippogriff shook itself briskly, showering Sirius with ocean water spraying from its feathers and hair. “Perfect,” spat Sirius, blinking the water out of his eyes as the hippogriff shot him what he could have sworn was a smug look. “Excellent. Really well done.”

 

The hippogriff folded its wings in, well satisfied with itself, then pranced to the side so that Sirius could stand.

 

Sirius conjured a pair of hooks for the fish, then began wandering up the beach, the fish swinging in his hand and the hippogriff trotting alongside him. Their shadows were longer now than they had been, stretching up towards where the sand turned into grass at the top of the beach. Sirius looked out over the water, squinting his eyes against the slowly setting sun. His beard itched, but he wasn’t going to entertain the idea of shaving it. He looked too much like his father without it, and anyway, Madagascar was a former colony of France, which meant that the French government -- magic and Muggle -- was always wandering around acting like they still owned the place. And France and Britain were always pretending to be allies, so there was almost certainly some outpost of the British Ministry of Magic somewhere on the island. He wondered how high the prize on his head had gotten after his second escape.

 

_Escape_. He snorted. It had been a rescue, and an unnecessary one at that. Last he’d checked, Dumbledore was still head of the Wizengamot, the body that doubled as the Parliament of the wizarding world, and its high court. But of course Dumbledore, in his legendary wisdom, had been full of reasons why this would not work.

 

_“Sit,” the Auror said curtly, shoving Sirius into a chair behind one of the desks in the North Tower classroom. Sirius stumbled, still off-guard, half-conscious from the dementors. Once he had fallen into the chair, the Auror conjured manacles that bound him tightly in place. He could barely move his wrists against the arms of the chair._

 

_The Auror backed away, inspecting his work, and Sirius blinked and tried to place him. He was much older than Sirius, which had to mean he had been on the Auror Squad already when Sirius was going through training. He was blond, with a round jaw and a soft face, and some part of Sirius wondered how hard he had to work to appear stern._

 

_“Robards,” growled a voice from the door, and the Auror -- Robards, Sirius supposed -- turned and faced Rufus Scrimgeour, who was leading Cornelius Fudge and Albus Dumbledore into the room. “Back up, yeah? Give us some space.”_

_Without taking his eyes from Sirius, Robards backed slowly away until he was leaning against the wall. Scrimgeour, studying Sirius, dragged another one of the students’ chairs and settled it directly in front of him, then sat, so that he and Sirius were directly eye-to-eye. Neither of them spoke, but the silence was shattered by Cornelius Fudge._

_“Oho!” he puffed, striding forward with his fisted hands planted firmly on his hips. “Oho! At last, Black! You thought you could run forever, but now here we are!”_

 

_“Minister,” interrupted Scrimgeour, his voice still harsh and throaty. Sirius almost asked how much of that was deliberate effect, but stopped himself. “If you’d give me a moment, please.”_

 

_Sirius kept his eyes fixed on Fudge until the Minister, scowling, stepped away from Sirius and begrudgingly waved Scrimgeour forward._

 

_The head Auror sized Sirius up while drawing his wand and wordlessly Summoning a chair and dragging it a few inches away from Sirius’s knees. Scrimgeour took a seat and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and for a moment they just looked at each other._

 

_“I remember you,” Scrimgeour growled finally. “From Auror training. You were impulsive. Stubborn. Couldn't follow an order to save your life.”_

 

_Sirius felt the corners of his mouth twitch up. “I could when they weren't stupid fucking orders, mate.”_

 

_Scrimgeour scoffed. “There's no need to keep pretending, Black. Not at this point. You did twelve years in Azkaban for supporting You-Know-Who. The least you could do right now is respect my intelligence.”_

 

_“Then start displaying some.”_

 

_Suddenly Scrimgeour slammed his fist down on the arm of the chair and leaned forward. Sirius raised his eyebrows as Scrimgeour snarled, “Enough games! Do you deny, Black, that you kidnapped three Hogwarts students tonight, and that you manipulated them into attacking Severus Snape?”_

 

_After considering it for a moment, Sirius shrugged. “Technically I only kidnapped the one. The other two followed. As for the bit with Snape, the only reason I won't take the hit for manipulating the kids is that if it'd been up to me they'd’ve used something better than Expelliarmus.”_

 

_Fudge stepped forward. “Is that a confession?” He asked eagerly._

 

_Sirius leaned back in his seat. “It can be whatever you want it to be, Minister, but it's disappointing that you're still relying on others to do your job for you.”_

 

_“Enough,” said Dumbledore quietly, as Fudge’s face purpled. “Cornelius, Rufus, forgive me, but I believe I would have better success if I spoke with Mr. Black alone.”_

 

_Scrimgeour looked over his shoulder apprehensively. “Headmaster, I appreciate the offer, but I'd rather this one be completely by the book. All processing should be done by--”_

 

_“By high-ranking members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?” Dumbledore asked. “Yes, I agree. It is a good job, then, that I am still head of the Wizengamot, wouldn't you agree?”_

 

_“But--but your own security, Dumbledore!” Fudge blustered._

 

_A small smile emerged through Dumbledore’s beard. “I appreciate your concern, Cornelius, but Mr. Black was bound to this chair by your own Deputy Head of the Auror Office. I would hope that you doubt neither Gawain’s spell work nor my own ability to defend myself, and so I can assure you that I will be just fine unaccompanied.”_

 

_Scrimgeour opened his mouth, then closed it, exchanging a glance with Robards. But apparently neither of them could come up with an argument, because Scrimgeour grudgingly heaved himself to his feet and without another word stumped out the door, his deputy following him. Dumbledore did not move as they passed him, but waited expectantly as Fudge hesitated. “Cornelius, do you honestly think I would use my position to compromise an official investigative proceeding?”_

 

_Fudge’s face shifted from purple to red in his embarrassment. “Of course not, Albus. But I shall instruct Scrimgeour and Robards to wait just outside the door, just in case.”_

 

_Dumbledore inclined his head. “I appreciate it.”_

 

_Neither Sirius nor Dumbledore moved again until the door had clicked shut behind Fudge, and even then, Dumbledore kept silent, surveying Sirius with a thoughtful expression on his face._

 

_For his part, Sirius dropped his arrogant facade and finally asked the question that had been burning in the back of his throat. “Are they all right? Harry and his friends?”_

 

_Dumbledore sighed and finally moved forward. “I believe they will be, yes. At this time, Hermione Granger is the only one who has regained consciousness, though I have not yet had a chance to speak with her.”_

 

_Sirius’s stomach seemed to drop. “Harry is still unconscious?”_

 

_Dumbledore nodded, his ice blue gaze piercing Sirius. “Sirius, what happened by the lake?”_

 

_Sirius opened his mouth, closed it, and then hesitated. He could almost hear James whispering that Dumbledore, for all his secrets, may have been one of the only sane leaders left._

 

_However, Sirius reminded himself, Dumbledore had not insisted that he have a trial._

 

_But what did that matter now? It had been done, it was over, and for now Sirius had to focus on ensuring that Harry was safe, that Remus faced no legal consequences for the night’s activities, that the Ministry directed its attention to hunting down Peter._

 

_And so he stared at a stone in the wall over Dumbledore’s shoulder, and said, “After the full moon came out and Remus transformed, Peter Pettigrew transformed into an Animagus and escaped. I had to get Remus away from the kids, and I wasn't able to keep Peter where he was. As far as I know, he escaped.”_

 

_“An Animagus?” Dumbledore asked quietly._

 

_Sirius swallowed hard. He was probably going back to Azkaban anyway, he reasoned, and he wanted to give as many reasons to hunt down Peter as possible, and James was dead. What did it matter now? “Yes,” he muttered. “Me and James and Peter taught ourselves how to be Animagi so that we could keep Remus company while he transformed. Remus didn't ask us to or encourage us, or… or help us in any way.”_

 

_“I see.” Dumbledore paused. “Would this have anything to do with those nicknames that the four of you were always using for each other? Prongs? Padfoot?”_

 

_Without realizing it, Sirius smiled. “It would. I'm Padfoot… mine is a great black dog. James -- Prongs -- was a stag. And Peter is Wormtail because he's a rat.”_

 

_“Hmm.” Dumbledore slowly moved forward and lowered himself into the seat that Scrimgeour had vacated. “Small and hard to find. I see.”_

 

_Sirius felt his heart rate pick up. “You believe me, don't you?”_

 

_Dumbledore nodded once. “I do. I do not think that it would make any sense for you to go to all this fuss and bother if you were truly a Death Eater. No, you would have killed Harry as soon as you had him alone in the Shrieking Shack, not stalled for so long that not one but two of my staff had time to come find you.”_

 

_Sirius exhaled quickly in relief, and tried to lean forward, but he was still bound to his own chair. “So you'll tell the Wizengamot? You'll ask the Aurors to instigate a search for Peter?”_

 

_Dumbledore passed a weary hand over his eyes. “Sirius, I'm not sure that is the wisest path available to us.”_

 

_Sirius stared at him. “What do you mean?” he asked blankly._

 

_“Any path towards naming Peter Pettigrew a public enemy in absentia will require you to return to Azkaban for at least a short while, and even then, overturning your conviction will rest on the word of three teenagers and a werewolf.”_

 

_“Then that's what we’ll do, then!” snapped Sirius, reminding himself not to yell, because Robards and Scrimgeour were probably trying to listen in through the door. “I survived that shithole for twelve years, I can handle a little longer -- and just give them Veritaserum! Enter their memories into evidence! How will that not be enough?”_

 

_Dumbledore held up a hand. “Sirius, you do not understand the current political climate. There is no reason that any such efforts would work--”_

 

_“And when did that become a good enough reason not to try?” Sirius demanded._

 

_Dumbledore fell silent, and for a moment they just looked at each other. Eventually, Dumbledore stood._

 

_“The Minister will wonder what is taking me so long,” he murmured. “I will speak with him, Sirius, but I will also explore… alternatives. Either I or someone else will return with an answer for you later this evening.”_

 

_“Any chance that ‘someone else’ could be a dementor?” Sirius asked, his voice flat._

 

_Dumbledore didn't answer. Instead he laid a hand that was probably meant to be comforting on Sirius’s shoulder. “I shall do my best for you, Sirius.”_

 

_Sirius bit his tongue to keep from asking if Dumbledore's best was what he had been given twelve years ago, and instead silently watched the headmaster’s back as he walked out the door._

 

_He had not heard from Dumbledore again, and nearly an hour had passed with nothing, no word, no indication as to whether Sirius was to be left with his soul, whether James’s son had fully recovered. The silence had been so absolute that he could have sworn he could hear his own blood moving through his veins. He remembered whispering his apologies to James into the silence, over and over. He had failed to avenge James and Lily -- he had failed to guarantee Harry's safety -- he had failed to keep Remus out of danger --_

 

_And then there had been a pounding on the glass of the window, and his gaze had flown to it, and he could not believe what he was seeing -- but there was no time to process. Harry, traumatized, injured, and exhilarated, was mounted on the back of a hippogriff, his friend Hermione clutching at his robes as they hovered outside the window. And Harry had cut off Sirius’s incoherent questions and ordered him onto the beast’s back as well._

 

_Sirius really hadn't had a chance to thank the kid, to speak to him, even, because they had all been so singularly focused on getting Sirius away from the castle. He had flown without stopping for hours, and it was only as he passed over Edinburgh that he had managed to stop shaking._

 

And for what? Sirius thought bitterly as he led Buckbeak up the beach. Remus was in self-imposed exile from the Wizarding world, and Harry had been forced back to Lily’s cow of a sister for the summer. Nothing in any of the magical newspapers Sirius had managed to steal -- English and French -- had made any mention of an investigation into whether Peter Pettigrew was truly alive.

 

So maybe Sirius was free, after a fashion, but it didn't seem to have served any purpose.

 

As Buckbeak and Sirius climbed up the beach to reach the edge of the jungle, Sirius huffed in frustration. Why was Dumbledore not applying more pressure? He had to realize, didn't he, that Peter would do what made him safest? And that wasn't being on the run alone -- Sirius had been at it for more than a year now, and he knew that Peter wouldn't last a day; he wasn't fit for it. But that had to mean that Peter would go where he was guaranteed protection, and the horrible knot in Sirius’s stomach was convinced that this meant that Peter would find his way back to Voldemort, sooner or later.

 

He didn't see the beauty of the twilit dirt path through the jungle as he walked it, instead drifting back to Azkaban, hearing the whispers, the murmurs, the shrieks -- no one knew what happened to Voldemort after he had killed James and Lily, but the bits and pieces of information that his followers had managed to gather pointed to Voldemort existing as a shapeless spirit somewhere in Eastern Europe. He was utterly weak, but that was only as long as he was alone. Sirius was sure, as he had never been sure of anything, that if Peter managed to make his way back to Voldemort, then it was only a matter of time until Voldemort regained a body. Why was Dumbledore not taking that risk seriously?

 

Sirius and Buckbeak rounded the last bend in the path and came across the rough shack that Sirius had managed to construct for himself in his first few days on the island. He had woven some palm fronds together and sealed them with magic, then propped them up against a rocky outcropping to make something that at least provided shelter from the tropical rain and, more often, from the blazing midday sun. Sirius dropped his hold on Buckbeak’s collar and patted the hippogriff’s flank before he let himself inside.

 

For just a moment, he eyed the perpetually open window with hope, but his face fell when he saw that there was no tropical bird waiting with a letter bound to its leg. He had written to Harry twice now -- once right after he had reached Madagascar, and again a few weeks later. The kid would reply, he reassured himself. And who even knew how long it took a bird to fly from England to Madagascar. Maybe Harry had already written to him, and the letter was on its way back!

 

He shrugged and tipped himself down onto the palm frond mat he had situated in the corner. If he didn't hear from Harry in another week, he would write to Remus and ask him to investigate, orders from Dumbledore be damned.

 

Darkness fell fully as he lay there, and though the window he could see stars begin to twinkle in the purple sky. The relief of freedom was beginning to wear off, and the restless itch to be _doing_ something, _fighting_ something, was creeping back into his mind like an old forgotten friend.

 

With a sigh, Sirius shoved himself upright and scooped up one of the fish Buckbeak had caught. He stepped outside again and lit a new fire in the pit he had dug, and began to clean and gut the fish while he waited for the flames to get hot enough.

 

Maybe he should go back to England, he mused as he slid the slimy white flesh onto a roasting stick. He wasn't any use to anybody but himself down here. And if he was right about what Peter would do next, then he and Remus -- and Dumbledore, if he was willing -- needed to be better positioned to anticipate and preempt him. They had spent most of the first war reacting to Voldemort, and it had cost them.

 

A lump formed in Sirius’s throat as he watched the smoke rise from the fish over the fire. Yes, it had cost them.

 

He exhaled slowly and looked out into the jungle. If he sat in just the right spot, a gap formed through all the foliage, and he could see clear to the ocean. The water was calm tonight, the waves breaking gently on the shore. It was peaceful, but he knew he couldn't stay for much longer. He would write to Remus tomorrow, he decided, and ask Remus get some sort of read on the intensity of the search for Sirius. If it had died down, even a little, he would go back. Harry needed to be protected, and if Dumbledore was handling Harry’s protection the same way he had handled Sirius’s innocence, then God only knew how inadequate it was.

 

_“Hey!” Sirius sat up straight in his chair and tapped Remus’s elbow, nodding to where James and Lily had just walked into the room. “I thought you two were going to sit out Order meetings for at least another week!”_

 

_James shrugged, barely suppressing a grin as he pulled out a chair for Lily, who had her arms wrapped around what looked like a bundle of blankets. “She said she was bored.”_

 

_Lily scoffed even as she sat gingerly in the chair, doing her best not to upset the sleeping baby. “Please. It's not all my fault. You wanted to show your son off, if I remember correctly.”_

 

_“Damn right I did,” puffed James, taking the baby from Lily’s arms and lowering him so that he was between Remus and Sirius. “Kid, you remember your Padfoot Chacha and Moony Chacha. And--” he glanced around the half-full room, frowning. “Where's Peter?”_

 

_Sirius shrugged without looking up. “Said he'd be late. James -- can I--?”_

 

_“Yeah--” slowly and carefully, James transferred Harry to Sirius’s arms. “Just be sure you support his head, yeah?”_

 

_“I got it, I got it.” Sirius positioned the baby so that Remus could lean over and see his face while James took the free seat on Lily’s other side. “I have to say, kid, you're less slimy than the last time I saw you.”_

 

_Remus huffed a laugh as Harry exhaled hard in his sleep. “You tell him, Harry,” Remus murmured. “Don't let him talk to you like that.”_

 

Sirius sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back against the trunk of a palm tree. “James, I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I’ll do better this time. I promise.”

 

A brisk breeze suddenly whisked past the little shack, and the flames of the cooking fire flickered. Sirius smiled, feeling the warmth dance across his face.


	2. The Summons

It had been a quiet few weeks since he had first arrived in Wales, Remus reflected as he wiped down the tables near the window, enjoying the slight warmth of the sunlight filtering through the glass to dance against his skin. The pub wasn’t due to open for another hour, and technically Remus was only paid for the last half hour before opening, but he liked to come in early for his opening shifts. It gave him time to brew coffee, to wander through the empty space as the dust motes danced in the light around him, to check his work as he counted out the tills. Sometimes, he would even finish early enough that he could take a seat on one of the stools at the bar and flip through the current  _ South Wales Weekly Post _ . 

 

He had just finished taking all the chairs down from atop the tables when he heard a key rattle in the lock. He glanced up just as Liara let herself in, shooting him a quick smile as she hung up her hooded jacket. “Hey, Remus.”

 

“Hello.” He nodded back at her before walking behind the bar, taking down another coffee mug and pouring her a cup of the dark, steaming liquid. “Extra cream, no sugar, yeah?”

 

“Aye.” Liara slid into place on a bar stool and pulled the newspaper that Remus had yet to open towards herself. He set the cup of coffee down at her elbow before circling back around the bar to join her. “Is there anything left for me to do?” When Remus shook his head, she rolled her eyes. “The whole point of two of us being scheduled before opening is that we split the work, you tosser.”

 

Remus shrugged. “I was here already. It’s no trouble.” He took a sip of his own coffee. “Are you planning on going back to school in the fall?”

 

Now it was Liara’s turn to shrug. She was technically a third-year student at Cardiff University, but took classes only sporadically. She was part of the tight-knit but slowly growing Afro-Caribbean population in Cardiff, and she helped take care of her sick grandmother, who had a distinct distaste for British doctors and nurses. “I’m registered for two classes, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to manage both of them. I’d like to stay on full time here, if it’s possible. We need the money.”

 

Remus exhaled slowly. “Yeah.” Money. It was why he was working a full day -- from open to close -- for the third time that week alone. He tried not to think about the brief visit he had been paid after closing only a month ago, or of the wad of cash tucked into a box under his bed. He knew better than to touch it for anything less than a total emergency.

 

Neither Remus nor Liara moved as they heard the rustlings coming from behind the bar as the kitchen staff let themselves in the back door and began prepping for the day. They knew better than to interrupt Owain and his team before they were ready to be interrupted. 

 

Liara and Remus sat side by side finishing their coffee and trading sections of the paper back and forth until the clock struck eleven. Remus slid off his stool and stretched before moving to the front door and unlocking it from the inside, while Liara quickly and efficiently double-knotted her apron strings around her waist. 

 

The day started off slowly, as usual: a trickle of dockworkers coming off their graveyard shifts slid into the tables, ordering a hot meal before heading home to bed. Along with them were the students pretending to work on group projects for their summer courses, and the American tourists who were slightly confused about whether or not a pub was the appropriate place to order lunch. Tess was a few minutes late to the start of her barmaid shift at one in the afternoon, but Remus simply rolled his eyes and waved her on. 

 

Almost without any of them noticing, the day slipped into evening, the sunlight patches stretching all the way across the wooden floor to the back wall as the pub steadily filled and emptied and filled again. Liara’s boyfriend wandered in about an hour before her shift was due to end, and took a seat at the bar. “Hey, Remus, mate.”

 

“Benny.” Remus nodded and poured him a Guinness. “What else can I get you?”

 

Benny shrugged, sliding off his heavy work gloves and tugging off his coat. “Fish and chips.” After Remus had nodded and passed the order on to the kitchen, Benny asked him, “How’ve you been?”

 

“Good, and yourself?”

 

“All right.” Benny took a gulp of his drink, then set his glass down and fished out his wallet. He handed Remus money to pay for his food, shaking his fist insistently when Remus tried to wave him off. “C’mon, mate. Take it.”

 

“Friends eat free,” said Remus, making a show of occupying both of his hands with a cloth to wipe down the bar.

 

“He’s not your friend,” said Liara, suddenly appearing at Remus’s elbow behind the bar to fill a set of pint glasses. “Take his money. No special treatment for him.”

 

Benny snorted. “Good to see you too, love.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Liara skirted around him, balancing her tray of drinks, but did pause long enough to drop a kiss on the top of his beanie-covered head. “I’m not kidding, Remus. Take his money. If the till is short at the end of the night, you’ll have to explain why.”

 

Remus held up his hands in surrender and took Benny’s money, just as Owain called Benny’s fish and chips. 

 

Liara’s shift was almost over, and her replacement, Mac, had already tied his apron around his waist and joined her on the floor when Remus felt himself being watched. His spine stiffened even as he filled up a pint with lager, and he resolutely refused to look either left or right. He took as much time as he could to fill the new patron’s order, keeping his attention fixed utterly on the businessman’s bland, pale face, so as not to have to allow his eyes shift to the doorway. But the man took his drink, handed Remus his money, and raised his glass in a small toast before wandering back to his table, and Remus had no choice. He sighed, loud and long, and looked over his shoulder at the two men who were standing calmly just inside the front door.

 

They had actually not done too bad of a job of dressing like Muggles, he observed dispassionately. The cut of their business suits was a bit dated, but their ties were knotted neatly, and if Remus hadn’t known what he was looking for, he wouldn’t have noticed the wands concealed inside their overcoats. When they realized they had his attention, one of them muttered something to the other, who nodded once and stepped outside. The one who remained stared at Remus expectantly.

 

“Tess,” Remus called out over the babble of the bar. “I’m stepping out for a minute. If I’m not back when Liara’s shift is up, will you ask her to wait a moment?”

 

Tess moved over to the bar, frowning. “Sure, but is everything all right?”

 

“Yeah.” Remus forced a smile. “It’s fine.”

 

Before she could ask any more questions, he slid past her and out from behind the bar. He shoved his hands into his pockets and did not make eye contact with the Ministry wizard as he shuffled past him and out the door, to where his colleague waited patiently. 

 

He had been waiting for this, he thought grimly as the two wizards led him around to the alley at the side of the pub. He had wondered how long it would take the Aurors to come and ask him about the visit that Sirius had paid him before fleeing the country.

 

As the three of them filed into the alley, Remus was careful to stand with his back to a wall, but it did not escape his notice that the Aurors were standing casually on either side of him, blocking both of his exit routes. He balled his hands into fists in his pocket and waited. 

 

The first wizard to speak was tall, with white skin and silver hair, and a deep voice that was obviously meant to invoke instant respect. “Mr. Lupin,” he began, “we are here from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”

 

Bizarrely, the first emotion to flood through Remus’s veins was relief. “So… you’re not Aurors?” he blurted, and then flinched. What an excellent way to put them on notice that he had reason to be wary of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

 

On cue, the two other wizards glanced at each other, and Remus swore silently. “No,” answered the first one, slowly. “As I said, we’re from Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. My name is Mr. Gunnora, and this is my colleague Mr. Flaherty. We need to speak to you about an incident that occurred on the grounds of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on the ninth of June this year.”

 

Remus felt his spine stiffen, and he opened his mouth to speak before he thought better of it and fell silent. The more damage control he could do right now, the better.

 

The two wizards seemed to be waiting for Remus to speak, but when he did not, Gunnora continued, “We understand that you underwent the full werewolf transformation in the presence of three underaged wizards, along with an unconscious faculty member of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?” He paused expectantly, but again Remus did not speak. His mouth just barely tightening in impatience, Gunnora spoke again. “As I’m sure you know, such an event is not a criminal violation in and of itself, but you are still required to make an in-person visit to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and give a sworn statement about the event, which will then be added to your file.”

 

“Right.” Remus schooled himself to keep his expression neutral. “And will I be reporting to the Beasts or Beings division within the Department?”

 

Flaherty reached into his coat, and Remus failed to suppress his own flinch. Flaherty paused, his eyebrows raised, but slowly proceeded to draw a scroll of parchment out from within his overcoat. He held eye contact with Remus until Remus took it, then said, “This is the formal summons. I’m sure the answers to all your questions will be contained there. You may consider yourself served.”

 

“Right,” answered Remus, tersely. “Will that be all?”

 

“It will,” said Gunnora, nodding, as he tugged down the lapels of his overcoat. “We appreciate your time, Mr. Lupin. Have a nice night.”

 

Remus did not move as Gunnora stepped past him to join Flaherty, so they could both proceed further into the alley until they judged it safe enough to Disapparate. He watched them disappear, and then exhaled. After a moment, he withdrew a shaking fist from his pocket and uncurled his fingers, passing his hand down his face as he took a series of deep breaths. 

 

The sky was slowly bleeding into purple as the sidewalk beyond the alleyway grew more crowded. Remus could hear laughter, conversations -- the good people of Cardiff ending their work days, reuniting with their friends, perhaps deciding on a whim to stop for a pint before heading home. He shook himself. Liara was due to go home soon, and he needed to get back inside, to support Tess and Mac and the team in the kitchen.

 

Briskly, he cleared his throat and sniffed, unrolling the scroll that Flaherty had handed him moments ago. Better to skim it now, he reasoned, than deal with it burning a hole in his pocket for the rest of the night.

 

His fingers were surprisingly steady as he spread the parchment out.

 

_ Dear Mr. Lupin, _

 

_ Pursuant to your transformation into a full werewolf in close proximity to three underage wizards at approximately 11:38pm, on the ninth of June, in the year 1994, you are hereby summoned to meet with a representative of the Werewolf Registry, Beast Division, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Such presentation must occur before 5:00pm on the first of August, in the year 1994. If such presentation does not occur by the appointed date, a warrant will be issued for your arrest. There will be no need for you to bring legal counsel or representation to this meeting, as a representative from the Office of Werewolf Support Services, Being Division, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, will be made available to you. _

 

_ Thank you for your cooperation, _

_ Amos Diggory _

_ Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. _

 

Remus snorted and tipped his head back so that he was leaning against the wall of the alley. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, catching a whiff of cigarette smoke. Of course. He had to formally record this transformation with the Werewolf Registry. It would have been too far for even the British wizarding world to criminalize the werewolf transformation itself, but the easy workaround for the Ministry was to keep a detailed set of documents of every public transformation they could, so that if they ever needed to lay criminal charges against a werewolf, they had a behavioral pattern conveniently established.

 

And, Remus noted absently, the Ministry still seemed to have not come to a consensus about whether werewolves were Beasts or Beings -- placing the registry and the capture unit in the former division, but the services offices in the latter. And if that wasn’t a metaphor for the state of the wizarding world’s relationship to those it considered subhuman, Remus wasn’t quite sure what was.

 

Briskly, he balled the letter up and stuffed it back into his pocket before he straightened his shoulders and stepped out of the alleyway and onto the pavement. It was already July eighteenth, but he had a day off on the twenty-third -- he would just go then, he supposed. Get it over with as quickly as possible.

 

He shouldered his way back into the pub, which even in the few moments he had gone seemed to have tripled in occupancy. Remus sidestepped a group of rowdy workmen and slipped back behind the bar, just in time for Tess to careen into the other side of it and hand him ticket for food. “For the blokes over there at the six-top in the corner,” she told him, jerking her thumb over her shoulder.

 

“Right.” Remus passed the order through the window into the kitchen. “Do they want drinks?”

 

“Sure, but I told them they could come up to the bar and order like everybody else.” Tess winked picked up a tray full of beers that Mac had just set down for her, and was immediately back at work.

 

Remus caught Benny’s eye, but before they could speak to each other, three people at once descended upon Remus to order their beers. He immersed himself in the task of filling pint glasses while making small talk, pretending to be as immersed in each new patron’s story, the tension from the Ministry wizards’ visit slowly ebbing away.

 

“Oy.”

 

Remus startled, and turned to see Liara standing beside him behind the bar, where she most certainly had not been a moment before. “Where did you come from?” he asked.

 

“Where did you go?” she countered. “All Tess told me was that she’d seen some friends of yours come in, and you needed me to cover you a few minutes after my shift ended.”

 

“Right -- I’m sorry about that,” Remus began, but Liara cut him off, sweeping her long purple braids out of her face. The light caught the small crystal stud in her nose when she moved.

 

“I don’t care about staying a few minutes over, Remus. But in the month that you’ve worked here, you’ve not had any friends visit--” Remus forced his face to keep still “--and anyway, it’s so unlike you to ask me… or anyone, really, to stay over time.”

 

She paused, and Remus waited. “Is there a question?” he asked eventually.

 

Liara huffed. “Just… are you all right?”

 

He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Now go on. You should have left fifteen minutes ago.”

 

She studied him for one more long moment, then shrugged. “Fine. But I’m here when you do feel like talking, yeah?”

 

Remus didn’t answer, but it was just as well, because just then Benny approached them on the other side of the bar, Liara’s bag in hand. “You ready, love?”

 

With one last searching look at Remus, Liara muttered, “Yeah,” and stepped out to join him. Benny handed her her bag, which she shouldered while leaning into his kiss to her temple. “G’night, Remus,” she said. “I can’t believe you keep offering to work full days. It’ll kill you, I swear.”

 

Remus shrugged, picking up a rag to wipe down the bar top. “Hasn’t yet. Have a good night, Liara. Benny.”

 

Benny flashed a smile, but Liara just examined him for one more moment before she let Benny lead her away from the crowded bar and towards the door. Remus watched them go, then sighed again. They only had five hours until close. Ignoring the way his joints ached, he got back to work.

 

***

 

His life wasn’t really very different than it had been this past July, Remus noted as he walked through the front door of his flat shortly before midnight. In fact, almost all the essentials were the same. He worked in a small pub with people he was beginning to consider friends, he suffered through his transformations alone in an abandoned warehouse after he had managed to chain himself in place, he often caught himself dwelling on where Sirius was, and he was forbidden from contacting Harry Potter.

 

The boy turned fourteen next week. Remus sighed as he kicked his shoes off and padded into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of scotch from the barely-touched bottle he kept in one of the top cabinets. Remus wondered if Harry was still with Petunia and her family, or if the Weasleys had performed their customary kidnapping of him for the duration of the holidays. 

 

He smiled to himself. Customary kidnapping. The Potters had been that family for Sirius, once.

 

The scotch burned the back of his throat and forced his sinuses open, and he almost coughed after swallowing it down. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the crumpled summons notice from the Ministry, glancing it over once more before tossing it onto his kitchen counter. For a brief moment, he considered writing to Dumbledore, but almost immediately decided against it. Dumbledore had made it clear he didn’t want to hear from Remus after the way the school year had ended, and anyway, Remus found it hard to believe that Dumbledore, the head of the Wizengamot, didn’t already know.

 

Head of the Wizengamot. Remus frowned into the smoky night sky as he stood staring out his window. Head of the Wizengamot, and he hadn’t felt it necessary to push Amelia Bones to retroactively award Sirius a trial.

 

With his free hand, Remus rubbed the back of his neck. Sirius wouldn't stay on the run forever, Remus knew it. Now that Sirius knew that Remus believed him, that Harry believed him, and that Peter was out there somewhere, it was only a matter of time before Remus got a letter from Sirius asking him if it was safe for him to come back to England.

 

And the truth was that Remus wouldn’t really know what to tell him, he thought as he flopped down onto the sofa. Remus had, once again, done his utmost to remove himself from the wizarding world. He didn’t take a subscription to the  _ Daily Prophet _ . He didn’t listen to the Wizarding Wireless Network. Hell, he rarely carried his wand with him.

 

But -- for Sirius -- he could start paying attention again. It was the least he could do, after condemning Sirius to Azkaban for twelve years.

 

Remus took another sip of his drink and sighed. Whatever they had all lived through together in June -- Sirius, Harry, himself -- it wasn’t over. Peter was on the run, and he was almost certain to have a destination in mind. 

 

And the thing was that Remus had no idea how to predict him. The Peter he had thought he had known would never have the cunning to play a successful double agent role for at least a year and a half, right under the nose of Albus Dumbledore. That Peter would never have had the magical skill to kill twelve people with one curse. He would not have had the endurance to remain in hiding for twelve years, however comfortable the hiding situation. And he certainly would never have tried to kill one of the children who had hidden him so successfully for so long. 

 

No, this Peter -- the Death Eater -- Remus didn’t know him at all, what he was capable of, how he thought, how he planned. Remus had no way to tell what he would do next. 


	3. Diggory Manor

“Pass it, pass it -- oh, come on!” Cedric shouted, pulling up his broom so that he hovered in midair while Angelina Johnson streaked by a few feet below him, Quaffle tucked under her arm. She barreled towards where Anthony Goldstein floated before their makeshift goal posts -- baskets enchanted to be suspended fifty feet above the ground -- braced to face her head-on. Angelina, her face screwed up in concentration, tried to duck around Anthony, but not even she was good enough to distract a Keeper who had seen her coming up the whole field. Angelina threw the Quaffle and immediately Anthony batted it away, and Cedric, shielding his eyes from the sunlight, watched as Roger Davies caught it and sped away up the field.

 

A blur of floral print flew by him, and Cedric heard Cho Chang call out, “Hard luck, Pretty Boy!” through her laughter.

 

“I hate all of you,” Cedric muttered as he leaned forward across his broomstick’s handle and zoomed off in the opposite direction as Cho.

 

It was the first pickup game that they’d managed to organize this summer, but they were only five to a side. Because they were in a field behind the Diggorys’ summer home a few miles outside of Dover, he had gotten first pick. His team included Angelina, Lee Jordan, Rinko Fujimoto, and Cassandra Clearwater. Roger had Cho, Anthony, Alicia Spinnett, and Daisy Kelly. Cedric tried not to think about how last summer they had been able to play seven to a side, but Fred and George hadn’t come this time.

 

The only real rule they were using was that the first team to score seven goals won, because they weren’t using a Snitch. Cedric wasn’t used to playing Chaser, but he was doing his best, and his team was leading five to four. Well, they had been -- Cedric groaned again as Roger passed to Daisy, who scored on Rinko. Tied at five.

 

Play resumed, and Rinko passed the Quaffle to Cedric, who passed to Daisy even as Alicia heckled him. This was the kind of game play they didn’t get to do at Hogwarts -- trash talk, disregard for rules, no real rules beyond “don’t knock anybody off their broom.” Cedric loved it -- he loved the ability to remember that he was friends with the people he shared a Quidditch pitch with.

 

The sun was just barely beginning to touch the edges of the trees to the west when Lee, dripping with sweat, managed to put a seventh goal past Anthony and win the game. Cedric raised his fists into the air and whooped, just as Lee shouted a loud “Fucking yes!” off to his left.

 

Tired and sweaty, they all drifted gently back towards the ground. Roger tripped over to Cedric and clapped him on the shoulder. “Good game, mate. Should be an interesting season this year, yeah?”

 

Cedric nodded as he picked up a water bottle lying in the grass beside his backpack. “Yeah. You lot--” he gestured at Angelina, Alicia, and Lee “--are going to have a new captain for the first time in three years. Actually…” he paused, frowning. “Isn’t Oliver graduating your first lineup change at all in three years?”

 

“It is, yeah,” Alicia sniffed as she worked to re-pin her hijab. A slip of the fabric came loose, and automatically, Roger, Cedric, Anthony, and Lee looked away. Alicia finished rearranging the scarf and continued, “McGonagall caught all kinds of hell for adding Harry to the team as a first-year, but it’s been the seven of us since then. Angelina’s probably going to get captain now though.”

 

A blush bloomed beneath Angelina’s dark skin, and she kicked at a nonexistent pebble at her feet. “You don’t know that. It might be you.”

 

Alicia just scoffed and raised her eyebrows. “Either way, it’ll be about time,” Cedric muttered as Daisy grabbed a towel and began to mop at the sweat on her face. “It’s been too long since we’ve had a girl captain a team, yeah?”

 

Cassandra nodded as they all shouldered their brooms and began to make their way back to the house, the windows of which gleamed orange in the light of the setting sun. “Yeah. Before you, Hufflepuff was Bobby Demaree, and Flint had it for three years because he repeated seventh year, so it’s been at least since… what, 1989?”

 

“I think so,” Cho murmured, frowning. “Is that the year it was Charlie Weasley, Advaith Achan, Porter Derrick, and… your sister, right, Daisy? Marianne?”

 

Daisy nodded and stole Cedric’s bottle of water before she replied, “Yeah. And she only had it for the one year.”

 

“Fuck’s sake.”

 

“You know,” began Lee conversationally, shaking his dreadlocks out of his face, “it’s also worth noting that if it’s Angelina, it’ll be the first black Quidditch captain at Hogwarts ever, and if it’s Alicia, it’ll be the first Muslim captain ever. Of any gender.”

  
  
  


Roger made a noise low in the back of his throat, but didn’t say anything. Cedric slowed the pace of his walk and turned to face him. “Roger? What’s up?”

 

“I just…” Roger shrugged. “It feels weird, doesn’t it? Wanting somebody to get captain just because they’re a girl? Or because they’re black? Shouldn’t you want the next Gryffindor captain to be captain because they’d be the best person for the job?”

 

The whole group came to a halt, and Roger turned to see everyone staring at him. “What?” he asked, defensive.

 

“Roger, just shut up,” Daisy advised.

 

“What? I just meant--”

 

“I’m serious,” she snapped. “Stop talking.”

 

“But--”

 

“Think of it this way.” Cedric cut him off. “You want the best qualified person to be captain? How many talented and qualified black girls have been passed over for captain because the outgoing captain was a white bloke who recommended that the Head of House give it to his best friend, who was also a white bloke?”

 

Roger opened his mouth, then closed it, frowning. “That’s a good point,” he muttered, looking away. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

 

“Well now you have.” Cedric clapped him on the shoulder and jerked his head towards the rest of the group, and they all continued up the lawn to the rear door of the manor house, chattering to each other, their conversations overlapping. The large mahogany door had been propped open the whole time they were outside, so they piled in and leaned their broomsticks up against the wall of the entrance hall before they began wandering in the direction of the kitchen. 

 

As they strolled past the open door of the drawing room, Cedric heard, over the babble of his friends, his father’s deep, persuasive voice. He paused at the threshold and glanced in, and felt his eyes widen in surprise. At the small round table near the window, his father and three of his aides from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures were sitting with one of Cedric’s least favorite people in the entire world. 

 

Dolores Umbridge must have heard the particularly loud shout of laughter that Lee gave at just that moment, because she looked up and smiled that disgustingly sweet smile at Cedric. “Cedric! Amos, you didn’t tell me that your boy was growing up to be so handsome!”

 

Amos frowned as he looked up at where his son stood flanked by his friends in the doorway. “Cedric.”

 

“Sorry, Dad,” Cedric muttered, acutely aware of the sweat staining the armpits of his T-shirt. “I didn’t know you were working from home today.”

 

Amos nodded, surveying Cedric over his bushy beard. “Shut the door on your way out, please.”

 

Cedric nodded once and did as he was told, hearing the door click shut behind him as he led his friends the rest of the way to the kitchen. Angelina nudged his arm. “What was all that about?”

 

“Not sure,” Cedric muttered, but his mind was whirling. Dolores Umbridge had been a bit of a specter in his life as long as he could remember. One of his worst childhood memories was being dragged to a Christmas party at his father’s office, and Umbridge leaning over, placing her face frighteningly close to his, and pinching his cheek so hard it left a red mark. As he had gotten older, Cedric had become increasingly aware of Umbridge’s simmering hatred for… well, just about everyone. She had a nasty habit of referring to centaurs, Muggleborns, and werewolves all as half-breeds, but doing so with such a sickeningly sweet demeanor that it was almost impossible for other bureaucrats to confront her publicly -- not that many tried very hard. She had, after all, made her way up to the position of Senior Undersecretary to the Minister with almost no trouble.

 

And Cedric, a nasty pit settling in his stomach, couldn’t help but wonder why someone with Umbridge’s opinions and prejudices was meeting with the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, right before a new legislative session of the Wizengamot was due to begin… and right after Remus Lupin had been publicly exposed as a werewolf while at Hogwarts.

 

“You got quiet,” Anthony observed as they all settled around the long trencher table in the middle of the basement kitchen. “We know you hate that woman, Cedric, but what’s up?”

 

Cedric opened his mouth to answer, but thought better of it. He loved his friends, but something told him to keep this one to himself until he was sure what was going on. “Just surprised my dad is working from home, is all -- oh, hi, Pokey,” he added, as his family’s house-elf tugged on the leg of his shorts. 

 

“Master Cedric!” squeaked the elf. “What can I be getting sir and his friends?”

 

“Ah--” Cedric rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “How about eight bacon sandwiches?”

 

“We’re right here,” said Anthony, bored, gesturing at himself and Alicia.

 

“Right -- sorry -- six bacon sandwiches, and… do we have any of that chicken left?”

 

“Yes sir! Right away!” Pokey squeaked, then bustled off. Cedric stood up and pulled out a pitcher of pumpkin juice, pouring out glasses for everyone. 

 

“Thanks,” said Rinko, taking her glass. “Hey -- by the way, my dad says that there’s rumors going ‘round that something dramatic happening at Hogwarts this year. D’you know anything about that, Ced?”

 

Before Cedric could answer, Lee snorted. “Something dramatic? At Hogwarts? Surely not.”

 

As they all laughed, Cedric responded, “Yeah, I have no idea. My dad hasn’t seemed busier than usual, and he hasn’t said anything to me, so I really don’t know what to tell you.”

 

“Huh.” Rinko shrugged. “Keep us updated, though, yeah?”

 

“I will.”

 

Individually, the others started drifting home over the next hour or so -- for dinner, to watch their younger siblings, to do the chores they had been neglecting for most of the day. Alone again, Cedric took his broomstick up in his room before wandering through the house, searching for his mother. She had been out all day, working towards organizing a benefit for her organization, Sisterhood of British Witches Historical Preservation Society.

 

He found her in her favorite sitting room, on the second floor in the southeast corner of the house. It was decorated just as she liked it, and Cedric could remember focusing intently on coloring within the lines of a pen-and-ink drawing his mother had just finished while sitting on the plush Oriental rug draped across the floor. “Mum?”

 

Allison Diggory looked up from the paperwork she was reviewing, and smiled. “Ced! Have your friends already gone home for the day?”

 

“They have, yeah.” When his mother patted the cushion beside her on the sofa, Cedric flopped down beside her. “How was your day? How’s the planning going?”

 

“Oh, well enough.” Allison tucked her paperwork back into a folder and set it aside. “You know how political these things can get. Narcissa Malfoy wants us to only put up for auction the items that fit a certain historical narrative but that’s not…” Allison sighed. “It’s all our history, you know? For better or worse, it’s our history, and I won’t sugarcoat it.”

 

“No, why sugarcoat it when you can make money off it?” Cedric smiled.

 

Allison slapped his knee with her palm, but laughed anyway. “Fair enough. But tell me about your day. How was the game?”

 

Cedric sighed. “Oh it was… fine. Fred and George didn’t come.”

 

Clucking gently, Allison placed a comforting hand on his leg. “They’ll come around, son.”

 

“I hope so.” Cedric tipped his head back against the top of the sofa. “I just wish… we were such good friends before that game, and I… I thought we would move past it by now.”

 

He did not mention that early morning in June, when he, Fred, George, and Astoria Greengrass had run to Remus Lupin, to warn him, to try to save him, only to be told that Professor Lupin hadn’t wanted their help. For just one moment, he and the twins had been back to normal, united by a common goal. And then the moment was gone.

 

But his parents didn’t know. Cedric didn’t dare let on to his father that he had known that Professor Lupin was a werewolf almost a year before the information was made public. He could just imagine what his father would have to say about Cedric concealing that kind of information.

 

“Hey.” Allison tugged gently on Cedric’s ear. “Where did you go?”

 

Cedric snapped himself back to the present. “Nowhere.” He tried to smile, and changed the subject. “Hey -- Dolores Umbridge was here earlier.”

 

“Oh dear, I’m sorry.” Allison frowned. “Did you have to speak with her?”

 

“No, not really, but… Mum, why were she and Dad working here? What’s wrong with the office?”

 

Allison shrugged. “Maybe they’re working on a particularly sensitive piece of legislation and wanted to get away from prying ears at the Ministry? You know how your father can be about that sort of thing.”

 

“Right,” Cedric muttered, trying not to let on that the pit was back in his stomach. “Yeah.”

 

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?” Allison reached over and brushed the flop of hair off of her son’s forehead. “You’re very quiet.”

 

“I’m just tired,” Cedric replied, finding a smile for her. “That’s all. I think I’ll go lie down for a bit before dinner.”

 

“All right,” said Allison, frowning, but she made no move to stop her son as he stood up, dropped a kiss to the top of her head, and left the parlor. 

 

But Cedric did not make his way to his bedroom. Instead, he wandered through the large, silent manor house, the eyes of the portraits following him speculatively. 

 

His father had been almost impossible to live with since Cedric had come home for the summer -- since before then. Over Christmas, Cedric had to hear Amos exclaiming with pride, over and over again, that Cedric had beat Harry Potter in Quidditch, and what an accomplishment that had been.

 

_ “Dad,” Cedric mumbled, “there were dementors on the field. He’s a thirteen-year-old kid, and--” _

 

_ “You were thirteen when you joined the team!” Amos bellowed, waving his cup of eggnog so wildly that he very nearly knocked a bauble off of the nearby Christmas tree. “And it took a real injury to sideline you -- none of these specters and ghosts and other nonsense--” _

 

_ “Hasn’t he seen his parents die?” Cedric sputtered. “Of course the dementors sidelined him--” _

 

_ “Cedric, there’s no reason to defend him now,” Amos laughed. “You won already!” _

 

He found himself at the end of one of the portrait galleries, looking over the wide expanse of the back lawn, where he and his friends had landed just a few hours ago. For the first time in his life, he didn’t want to go back to Hogwarts.

 

_ The door clicked shut behind Astoria, and Cedric felt the air become thicker with his own guilt. Professor Lupin tucked his hands into his pockets and turned to Cedric, surveying him silently, his face impassive. _

 

_ Cedric couldn’t take it. “Professor Lupin, I’m so sorry.” _

 

_ Professor Lupin sighed and leaned back against the teacher’s desk. “Don’t be,” he murmured. “It’s not your fault.” _

 

_ “But…” Cedric choked, impatiently swallowing back the burning sensation in his throat. _

 

_ Professor Lupin held up a hand, and Cedric immediately fell silent. “Cedric, if you learn nothing else from me, know this: We’re not our fathers. All we can do is leave their world better than we found it. You’re not responsible for what he’s done.” _

 

_ “I know,” Cedric said, the words coming quick and fast. “I just…”  _

 

_ “You’re a good man. The rest is just details.” Professor Lupin smiled at him, and it almost looked sincere. _

 

_ “So are you.” It was so important to Cedric, suddenly, that Professor Lupin knew that. But there was nothing else he could do, nothing else he could say -- he had no real way of fixing this. It was his job to fix things, but he couldn’t fix this.  _

 

_ All he could do was cross the room to Professor Lupin and hold out his hand, and be filled with a rush of gratitude when his professor shook it. _

 

_ “I look forward to watching you help change the world.” This time, Professor Lupin’s grin was genuine. _

 

_ “Thanks.” Cedric snorted, then turned to go, but he couldn’t quite get himself out the door just yet. “I’ll talk to my dad.” _

 

_ Professor Lupin shrugged, then shook his head. “I appreciate that, but--” _

 

_ “No buts,” said Cedric fiercely. “I’ll try, sir. I promise.” _

 

And he had tried, he really had, but… talking to his father had never been one of Cedric’s strong suits. The entire train ride home at the end of term, he had rehearsed how the conversation should go in his head: he would make sure that his father had at least two glasses of wine with dinner, and Cedric would dazzle him with how Hufflepuff had had a much stronger finish in the Quidditch season this year than last year, and how well everyone was projected to do on their OWLs, and then he would casually segue into all the extra prep time that Professor Lupin had put in with them. He would then say, sadly, what a shame it was that such a talented teacher was going to leave Hogwarts, just so Cornelius Fudge could keep some egg off his face.

 

But his father had beaten him to it.

 

Even before they had set Cedric’s trunk down after taking the Portkey home from King’s Cross, Amos was already ranting loudly on how Dumbledore could have been so careless as to allow a “dangerous monster” so close to his students. Cedric had snapped that Professor Lupin wasn't dangerous, not at all, and that he had been the best professor Cedric and his friends had had in the five years they'd been at Hogwarts. Before long it had devolved into as close to a shouting match as Allison ever allowed it, and Amos had insisted on having the last word. 

 

_ “It doesn't matter if he's a good professor, son!” Amos roared. “He's a monster! They're all monsters! At some point, we have to draw a line and say that nothing else matters!” _

 

Cedric winced at the memory.

 

He had let Professor Lupin down -- he hadn't tried to speak to his father again after that first night, and now Amos was taking day-long meetings with Dolores Umbridge at home, so they wouldn't be overheard at the office. Cedric could have prevented this, and he hadn't, he knew it.

 

But it couldn't be too late, Cedric fumed as he turned away from the window. There had to be more left that he could do, right? He wracked his brains for something -- anything --

 

The memory stopped him in his tracks, and he swallowed hard before breaking out into a run, clattering up the stairs towards his bedroom.

 

His father had said, around Christmas, that he would ask the other Department Heads at the Ministry for internships that Cedric could take during the summer. Cedric had begged Amos not to make the request, but Amos had insisted that it wasn't nepotism if it wasn't his own department.

 

But now, Cedric thought grimly as he burst into his room and began rifling through the letters on his desk, if it would get him in a position to circumvent some of what he was sure his father and Umbridge were trying to do….

 

He finally found the letter he was looking for, and heaved a sigh of relief as he reread it. He wasn't even sure if she would remember writing it, but he figured he had nothing to lose.

 

Cedric sat down at his desk and pulled a blank sheet of parchment towards him, lighting the lamp on the desktop as darkness fell outside.

 

_ Dear Madam Bones, _

 

_ I am writing in regard to your offer that I join the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as a summer intern this year. I know it is late in the calendar for me to reach out to you about this, but if the position is still open, I would very much like to take it. _

 

_ I look forward to hearing back from you. _

 

_ Thank you, _

_ Cedric Diggory _


	4. The Scar

Sirius was restless.

 

It was a feeling he was more than used to -- not for nothing had he spent twelve years of his godforsaken life in Azkaban -- but he had thought that on some level he would never have to experience it again once he was out.

 

He had escaped, hadn’t he? After twelve years of sitting around and waiting to die, wallowing in his own misery… He’d thought it would be better than this, once he was out.

 

But here he was, he thought bitterly, hacking away at a coconut with a machete he had bartered from the nearby Muggle village last week. There was a price on his head, he hadn’t heard from his only friend in weeks, and he had no idea if his godson was safe. 

 

And Wormtail. He had no way of tracking down Wormtail. 

 

“Ow -- fuck,” he grumbled as the machete slipped, and he barely missed nicking his thumb. Buckbeak, lying on the ground in the shade of a palm tree a few feet away, blinked one eye open. “Mind your own business,” Sirius muttered, and after a moment, the hippogriff seemed to raise an eyebrow before resuming its nap.

 

He sat back in the patch of sand in front of his shack and hefted one of the coconut halves. As he drank down the milk, he looked out towards the water. Once the bitterness and irritation faded, the fear uncoiled in his gut again. Eight weeks. It had been eight weeks now, and he hadn’t heard from Harry.

 

All he knew were snatches of gossip he had picked up whenever he had wandered as Padfoot into the local town, and from the few issues of  _ Le Monde Magique _ he had managed to steal. A Muggle man had disappeared from his cottage on the grounds of a Yorkshire manor, only to be found dead by way of the Killing Curse. A British Ministry employee had gone missing in Albania, though the gossiping shopkeeper who had been telling her friend hadn’t caught the employee’s name when she had heard the story from her husband. And now, Albus Dumbledore had summoned Alastor Moody, the best and most traumatized Auror that Great Britain had ever seen, to be his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Well, Sirius had muttered to himself, at least Harry would probably be safe under Mad-Eye.

 

Sirius didn’t know anything about what it was like for Harry to live with Lily’s sister and her family -- other than that Harry had been willing to drop them all at the first opportunity, not half an hour after he had been steeling himself to kill Sirius. Sirius knew it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that Lily’s sister had intercepted the letters that Sirius had written since his escape, and kept them from Harry. She had always thought that cutting contact with the magical world was the easiest way to make it disappear.

 

_ James frowned, checking his watch. “She did say seven, yeah?” _

 

_ “Yeah.” Sirius tucked his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “We were supposed to pick her up at seven, ‘cause the show starts at eight.” _

 

_ The two of them leaned up against a white picket fence across the street from Lily’s house in Cokeworth, where they had thought she was supposed to meet them ten minutes ago. Wafts of honeysuckle drifted through the early summer air around them, and the setting sun was barely beginning to tinge the sky orange. A few yards down the street from them, a group of children shouted as they played some sort of complicated-looking game with a ball and some sticks.  _

 

_ “She’s never late,” James muttered.  _

 

_ Sirius batted at James’s arm with the back of his hand. “Knock on the door, then. She’s probably just fixing her hair.” _

 

_ James scowled at him. “You never make those jokes when I’m late, mate.” _

 

_ “Fair enough.” Sirius paused. “But really, if you’re worried, we should knock.” _

 

_ “Not yet.” James shifted uncomfortably. _

 

_ Sirius didn’t push him further. James and Lily’s friendship was still so new, and if James didn’t want to do something that could risk the new balance they had all struck, Sirius wasn’t going to force him.  _

 

_ But when another five minutes passed with no sign of Lily, Sirius had grown restless. “Stay here,” he muttered to James, and jogged across the street. Ignoring James’s muttered protests, Sirius shoved the garden gate aside and strode briskly up the walk, tugging at the lapels of his jacket again before he rapped his knuckles three times against the door.  _

 

_ He thought he heard a woman yelling from within the house, but it lasted only a moment. He glanced over his shoulder at James, who had drifted over from across the street and was now standing just past the garden gate.  _

 

_ Sirius had just raised his hand to knock again when the door wrenched open. Lily, face flushed and a forced smile not quite hiding the distress on her face, whispered, “Hey, Sirius,” as she fumbled for her keys. She glanced over Sirius’s shoulder, and Sirius could hear James as he crossed the rest of the distance up the walk to join them on the stoop. “Sorry I'm late.” _

 

_ “It's fine --” Sirius started, but before he could get the whole statement out, a thin, pinched-faced blonde girl who looked only a few years older than Lily appeared in the hall, striding towards where the three of them were gathered at the threshold.  _

 

_ “Well, hurry along then,” she snapped, and Sirius raised his eyebrows at the way that Lily ducked her head. “Before the neighbors see.” _

 

_ Sirius glanced over his shoulder at James, whose face had fixed into a blank, heavy scowl. “See what?” asked Sirius, not bothering to keep the edge out of his voice as he turned back to the other girl. Petunia -- Lily’s horrible bitch of a sister. Had to be. _

 

_ “Sirius, let’s go,” Lily whispered, apparently giving up on the search for her keys and instead reaching out for Sirius’s elbow. “We’re already late.” _

 

_ “Yes - do get going,” Petunia snapped. “I won’t have you making a scene.” _

 

_ Sirius felt James stiffen beside him, even as Lily ducked her head and began to hurry down the walk.  “What kind of scene?” asked Sirius, adopting the cool voice he had perfected after so many years of hiding his anger from his father.  _

 

_ “Sirius,” Lily mumbled, “don’t.” _

 

_ Petunia, white-faced and furious, stood with one hand gripping the doorknob, and Sirius was almost impressed that she did not drop his gaze. He let his hand casually drift towards his wand where it was tucked into the waistband of his jeans. _

 

_ Almost immediately, he felt James’s hand wrap around his wrist, the calluses from James’s broomstick rough against Sirius’s skin. “Don’t do it.” _

 

_ At that, Sirius forced his jaw to loosen. But he shook his hair out of his face as he fixed Petunia with one last parting glare and snarled, “Get fucked, Ms. Evans,” before he turned and brushed past James and Lily down the garden path towards the gate.  _

 

_ He shoved the gate open, and Lily and James hurried past him onto the sidewalk. Only then did did they hear Petunia slam the front door shut, and Lily’s face crumpled. _

 

_ “Hey -- Evans --” James stammered, making as if to reach out and wrap his arms around her, but catching himself and instead resting an awkward hand on her shoulder. “We’re sorry -- Sirius is an arse --” _

 

_ “Yeah, I am,” said Sirius, already regretful. “I’m sorry -- I shouldn’t have tried to start something--”  _

 

_ Lily flapped one of her hands at them. “It’s not you -- it’s her -- I just….” She took a deep, shuddering breath and turned away, pinching her fingers hard against the bridge of her nose. “She’s always been like that, since I got my letter, but lately she’s been….”  _

 

_ Sirius and James glanced at each other apprehensively. This was the most either of them had ever heard Lily say about her sister -- until last year, neither of them had known that Lily even had a sister.  _

 

_ Without another word, Lily gulped in a deep breath and turned, wrapping her arms around her middle as she strode down the sidewalk. After exchanging another look, James and Sirius followed. The purple-gold of dusk dusted the street, and every once in a while they would pass an open door, and the sounds of the family within would spill out.  _

 

_ Sirius was debating whether or not to suggest that they blow off the concert entirely when Lily abruptly turned, leading them into an alley that was almost entirely concealed from the street by a hedgegrow. “Do you know where we’re Apparating to?” she asked, businesslike. _

 

_ “Er --” James fumbled around in the pocket of his coat for the tickets. “Yeah. Place is in Camden. It’s called Dingwalls, and Sirius, shut up.” _

 

_ “I didn’t say anything!” protested Sirius, affronted. That, at least, got Lily to let out a giggle. Sirius lightly punched her shoulder. “You still want to go, Evans?” _

 

_ “Yeah.” She seemed to have successfully beaten back any tears that had even had the nerve to consider escaping. Sirius half-expected her to toss her hair back and act as if nothing had happened, but instead, Lily ducked her head, fixing her gaze on her shuffling feet. “I’m sorry about that -- about her. She’s been worse this summer. She’s engaged now.” _

 

_ “Do we need to go kill him?” _

 

_ “Shut up, Sirius,” James snapped without taking his eyes off Lily. “D’you want to talk about it?” _

 

_ “He’s just…” Lily dropped her shoulders with a sigh. “So  _ normal _. Petunia has been chasing this weird absolute version of normal ever since I got my Hogwarts letter, it feels like. And how it’s like… it’s like she got him, the most normal man in the world, and she can’t wait to be shut of me.” _

 

_ “Then fuck her,” James swore roundly. “She can be pissed that you’re better than her all she wants. That’s her problem.” _

 

_ Lily nudged a pebble with the toe of her trainer. “I know. I mean, on most days, I know. But she’s still my sister.” _

 

_ Sirius watched the curtain of her hair swing forward to hide her face. “Yeah.” _

 

_ James looked back and forth between the two of them, and then his face softened. “You’re both better than the lot of them put together, you know.” _

 

_ No one spoke for a moment. Smiling faintly, Lily leaned into James, and he wrapped an arm around her in a quick hug. He held Sirius’s gaze over her shoulder and raised his eyebrows. Sirius nodded gruffly, swallowing around the lump in his throat. _

 

_ “Right, this is bullshit,” he scoffed abruptly, causing Lily to laugh again as she broke away from James. “We gonna go, or what? The opening act is probably almost done.” _

 

_ “Yeah,” mumbled Lily, surreptitiously wiping at her eyes. But before they could join hands to Apparate together, she began to laugh. James and Sirius both watched, apprehensive, but Lily just turned to Sirius and repeated, “Get fucked, Ms. Evans?” _

 

_ Sirius shrugged, fighting his own smile. “Best I could do in the moment. Give me at least a little credit.” _

 

_ Lily laughed again, harder this time. _

 

_ “Fine,” chuffed James, reaching out to link arms with Sirius. Sirius held his free arm out for Lily, who took it with a smile, squeezing his hand in comfort. With one last glance around to make sure they were unobserved, Sirius took a deep breath and felt his way into the tight nothingness. _

 

Sirius had met Petunia only two more times, he mused as he stared out over the distant shoreline. The first had been at her wedding that fall -- Lily and James hadn’t yet been “officially” dating and Lily didn’t want to explain that to her mother, so she had taken Sirius as her platonic date with the grossly mistaken logic that he knew how to behave in formal settings. And the second had been at Lily’s mother’s funeral, only a few months later. Petunia had spent the whole day silently blaming Lily and her so-called abnormality for Rose’s death.

 

And they -- Dumbledore, the Ministry, the lot of them -- had let that woman raise Lily’s son.

 

He stood and stretched, debating if taking one more walk down the length of the beach would relieve the itching drive to claw his way out of his own skin. But just then, a flash of white in the northern sky caught his eye.

 

Slowly, he turned his head towards it, not daring to hope. 

 

But as he held his breath, the white speck grew larger, and descended, until Sirius could make out wings -- talons -- large black eyes -- 

 

“Oh thank fucking God,” he gasped, taking off at a run towards where the owl was going to touch down on the shore. The owl coasted down towards him, and he held out an arm for it to land on, barely giving any mind to the way the talons would dig into his bare skin. Because there, in the bird’s clutches, was a scroll of parchment.

 

The bird landed, and Sirius staggered slightly under her weight, hardly giving her enough time to steady herself before he was scrambling to untie the letter. But before he could move to unroll it with his free hand, the owl hooted angrily and nipped at his ear.

 

“Fuck -- all right, all right,” he snapped, and took off up the beach at a run, the owl bouncing along, still attached to his arm. The letter -- Harry’s letter, it had to be -- felt as if it was burning in his hand. Buckbeak raised his head and apathetically observed the scene of Sirius crashing through the brush back to his little shack, depositing the bird next to some fish he had cut and cleaned, but not cooked yet. The owl and the hippogriff eyed each other for a moment, before Buckbeak apparently decided it wasn’t worth the effort and went back to sleep. The owl, for her part, tore into the fish, ravenous from a long journey.

 

Sirius missed all of this. He had thrown himself into the sand beside the discarded coconut husk and almost ripped the letter in his haste to get it unrolled. When he finally did, he held it up with shaking hands.

 

_ Dear Sirius, _

 

_ Thanks for your last letter. That bird was enormous; it could hardly get through my window. _

 

_ Things are the same as usual here. Dudley’s diet isn’t going too well. My aunt found him smuggling doughnuts into his room yesterday. They told him they’d have to cut his pocket money if he keeps doing it, so he got really angry and chucked his PlayStation out the window. That’s a sort of computer thing you can play games on. Bit stupid really, now he hasn’t even got  _ Mega-Mutilation Part Three _ to take his mind off things. _

 

_ I’m okay, mainly because the Dursleys are terrified you might turn up and turn them all into bats if I ask you to. _

 

_ A weird thing happened this morning, though. My scar hurt again. Last time that happened it was because Voldemort was at Hogwarts. But I don’t reckon he can be anywhere near me now, can he? Do you know if curse scars sometimes hurt years afterward? _

 

_ I’ll send this with Hedwig when she gets back; she’s off hunting at the moment. Say hello to Buckbeak for me. _

 

_ Harry _

 

The smile slowly slid off Sirius’s face as he read, and he was aware on some level of his heart pounding. Harry’s scar had hurt him. Peter had vanished, and it made the most sense that he had gone to find Voldemort. And eight weeks later, Harry’s scar had hurt him.

 

Hands trembling, Sirius balled up the letter and crushed his fist to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. The roar of the waves crashing against the shore seemed even more distant than usual. 

 

Voldemort was coming back. He was making moves to come back, and Sirius had been lying on a beach for two months, and now Harry was in danger. 

 

Motherfuck.

 

Without warning, the adrenaline rushed through his body, and he scooped up the coconut shell beside him and flung it at a nearby palm tree. “Shit!” he roared. Both the owl -- Hedwig -- and Buckbeak looked up, startled. Sirius ignored them both as he pushed himself up to his feet, sand flying everywhere. He had to go -- he had to leave, now, but --

 

He couldn’t just go charging into Hogwarts, not like last time. God only knew what protections Fudge had added to the castle after Sirius’s second escape. He needed to calm down -- to think about this --

 

_ Remus _ . He took a deep breath. Just thinking the name had steadied him. 

 

Remus had always been the most rational person Sirius knew. Remus would know what to do.

 

Still disregarding both the animals watching him nervously, Sirius spun on his heel and strode back into the shack, making straight for the precious sheaf of parchment and the inkwell he had stolen on his last trip into town. 

 

He smoothed out Harry’s letter and laid it next to a blank sheet of parchment as he began to write.

 

_ Moony -- _

 

_ Got this today from the kid. I’m coming back, and I need to stay with you for a few days while I figure out what to do. Should take me about a week to get to you.  _

 

_ Keep an ear to the ground. We both know who this is and what it means. _

 

_ Padfoot _

 

Sirius had no idea how long the letter would even take to reach Remus. He had to get the two-way mirrors for the two of them, he grumbled to himself -- but that would mean getting into his Gringotts vault again, and he had no idea how he was going to accomplish that without the help of Hermione’s cat this time.

 

He shrugged. He would worry about that later.

 

He wrapped Harry’s letter in his message to Remus and set them both aside for the moment, then drew another piece of parchment towards him. The last thing that any of them needed was for the kid to do something stupid before Sirius could get to him. He had, after all, tried to tackle a supposed murderer twice his age, so there probably wasn’t much room to assume self-preservation.

 

_ Harry -- _

 

_ I’m flying north immediately. This news about your scar is the latest in a series of strange rumors that have reached me here. If it hurts again, go straight to Dumbledore -- they’re saying he’s got Mad-Eye out of retirement, which means he’s reading the signs, even if no one else is. _

 

_ I’ll be in touch soon. My best to Ron and Hermione. Keep your eyes open, Harry. _

 

_ Sirius _

 

He scanned his letter over again, and paused before he rolled it up. He had told Harry to go to Dumbledore -- maybe Sirius should reach out to the old man as well?

 

But the thought was gone as soon as it had come. After all, it hadn’t even been three months since the last time that Dumbledore had told Sirius that he believed him but was refusing to act.

 

Both letters in hand, he stormed outside, slightly surprised to see that night had fully fallen. Hedwig peeked up at him, irritated, from where she had tucked her head under her wing to sleep. “No time, sorry,” Sirius said brusquely to her. “We all need to get out of here before sunup.”

 

Hedwig made a noise that Sirius could almost imagine to be a long-suffering sigh before she stuck her leg out and allowed him to tie his letter to Harry to her. “Thanks,” he told her. “Look after him for me, yeah?”

 

The owl regarded him for one last moment, then gave a hoot that was almost reassuring before she took off. Sirius watched her disappear through the palm fronds above his head, then snatched up a piece of fish that she had left behind, held it up into the air, and whistled. Within moments, a Fwooper descended upon him to claim the fish, and immediately Sirius whipped out his wand and snapped “ _ Silencio! _ ”

 

The bird glared at him, but Sirius shrugged. “You know I have to.” The Fwooper continued to chew on the fish, although with a bit less enthusiasm, as it allowed Sirius to tie the letter to Remus to its leg. “Take this to Remus Lupin, in Cardiff. Got it?”

 

The bird dipped its head in what could have been a nod, swallowed the last bit of fish, and then took off into the night, following the same path through the foliage that Hedwig had taken. 

 

Buckbeak had climbed to his feet now, and was watching Sirius expectantly. Sirius nodded at him, then went into the shack for the last time. He tugged a tattered long-sleeved shirt over his head, then threw the meager possessions he had managed to acquire since landing in Madagascar into a bag woven from palm fronds. 

 

He shouldered the bag and stepped outside, bowing to Buckbeak and waiting for the animal to return the gesture before he approached the hippogriff. Buckbeak let Sirius up onto his back, and together they both took one last moment to survey the little shack, blue and purple now in the moonlight. 

 

“Time we got back in the game, isn’t it?” Sirius said. 

 

The hippogriff reared up onto its hind legs and let out a piercing squawk, before dropping back down and galloping towards the shoreline. Sirius held on tight to the rope around Buckbeak’s neck and braced himself. With a last great heave, the hippogriff spread its wings and launched them up into the Madagascar sky.

  
  



	5. The Hearing

For the fifth time in half an hour, Remus reached up and twitched the worn collar of his Muggle button-down shirt as he strode through the London crowd. He had to get this over with, he reminded himself. It would be awful and humiliating and terrible, but hopefully for only half an hour, and then he’d never have to think about this day ever again.

 

Whitehall was bustling with early morning commuters, grim-faced men and women in a sea of grey suits, most of them clutching a travel mug of coffee in one hand and a briefcase of some kind in another. Remus, with his old black sport coat, wondered how obvious it was that he didn’t belong there. Without thinking about it, he hunched his shoulders tighter up around his ears. 

 

The old telephone booth was empty when he approached it, and with one last quick glance around, he slipped inside. Resolutely ignoring the knot clawing over itself in his stomach, he inserted his index finger in the rotary and dialed. Six - two - four - four - two.

 

Almost at once, the invisible woman’s voice sounded through the enclosed space. “Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.”

 

Remus sighed and fixed his eyes on the bit of red wood between window panes as he said, “Remus Lupin, conduct review with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”

 

There was a pause, but no badge materialized in the change tray of the telephone. Instead, after another moment, the disembodied voice spoke again. “We need you to be more specific, please. Which office within the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures will you be visiting for your conduct review?”

 

“Damn it,” Remus whispered.

 

“I am sorry, I did not understand that. Please repeat. Which office within the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures will you be visiting for your conduct review?”

 

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Remus ground out, “Beast Division, Werewolf Registry.”

 

“Thank you,” said the woman’s disembodied voice, and with a click and a rattle, a badge finally appeared. Remus took it, not letting himself look too long at what it said before he pinned it to his coat. 

 

REMUS LUPIN

CONDUCT REVIEW, WEREWOLF REGISTRY

 

The booth shuddered, and Remus stared unseeingly out the windows as he felt himself slowly descend into the earth. 

 

He was plunged into total darkness for a moment, and his breathing felt unnaturally loud in his own ears. Just half an hour, he promised himself. Just half an hour. 

 

The lift spilled him out into the Atrium of the Ministry, which was scarcely less busy than the Muggle street above. The noise overwhelmed him, and he could feel his skin begin to crawl -- everything was too close, too loud, too much -- but he shoved his hands back into his pockets and fixed his eyes forward as he marched through the crowd. 

 

He looked neither left nor right as he sidestepped the chattering crowds on his way towards the security gate. He did not to want to see the double takes, the stares, the whispers behind hands whenever anyone managed to look at his visitor’s badge long enough to read what it said.  He wished he was imagining that they were shrinking away from him.

 

Eric the security wizard was sitting leaned back in his chair, hidden behind a copy of the  _ Daily Prophet _ , when Remus approached him. Remus forced himself to stare unseeingly at the headline.  _ MINISTRY FAILS TO LOCATE BLACK -- AGAIN! _

 

When Eric did not look up at Remus’s approach, Remus stood nervously, shifting his weight from foot to foot for a moment, until he cleared his throat. “Excuse me?”

 

A corner of the newspaper twitched impatiently before a sigh sounded loud and long from behind it. Eric laid the paper down, shooting a begrudging glance at Remus’s badge. “Wand.”

 

Remus hadn’t been expecting the request, and he fumbled, digging around in his sport coat, a moment of panic swallowing him before his fingers wrapped around the handle of the slim piece of wood. Avoiding eye contact, he slid it across the desk towards Eric. 

 

Eric picked up the wand and dropped it onto the Detection Dish, his movements rough and careless. The dish began to hum, the vibrations causing the wand to rattle against the tray, before it spit out the receipt, which Eric tore off. “Ten and a quarter inches, cypress and unicorn hair, been in use almost twenty three years,” he read off. He glanced up at Remus, disinterested. “That sound right?”

 

Remus nodded, still avoiding Eric’s eyes. 

 

“Hmm.” Eric slid the wand back to Remus, who pocketed it. “I keep this,” Eric muttered, shoving the receipt from Remus’s wand down onto the spike with all the others. “Welcome to the Ministry of Magic, Mr. Lupin. Enjoy your stay.”

 

Remus did not bother responding. He shoved his hands into his pockets and strode forward, again refusing to look left or right as he passed through the golden grilles and headed for a lift.

 

He managed to shift the lapel of his coat so as to cover most of the badge on his chest, and he was for the most part ignored as he squeezed his way into one of the carriages. The witches and wizards inside shifted about to accomodate him, their conversations barely interrupted. Remus stared straight ahead as the gates slid shut and the lift began its slow descent into the depths of the magical government. 

 

The lift staggered to a halt, and the cool voice from the telephone booth intoned, “Level seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club, and Ludicrous Patents Office.”

 

Remus was jostled to the side by a pair of wizards arguing passionately. “I don’t care if that’s the way it was done in Johannesburg in 1990!” the taller wizard snapped. “Let the Africans do it their way! The Cup is here this year, in civilized country, and --”

 

The grilles slid shut again, and Remus winced at the casual racism. But of course. He had forgotten, in his self-imposed exile from the wizarding world, that it was 1994. A Quidditch World Cup year.

 

The last Quidditch World Cup that Remus had cared about had been in 1978.

 

_ “Come on, you lot!” James shouted, his face gleaming in excitement through the pre-dawn mist that blanketed the grounds of Potter Manor. “If we kick off now, we’ll be able to make it to Saint-Nazaire by nightfall!” _

 

_ “We will not,” Sirius muttered, bored, observing James striding around with glee as he checked everyone’s satchels. “Because I, for my part, am going to insist that we stop for food at some point, Prongs. Not all of us are adventure-crazed Quidditch gods.” _

 

_ Remus snorted without looking up from where he was fixing his rucksack to the bottom of his broomstick. Sirius shot him a glare. “Something to add, Moony?” _

 

_ Still keeping his eyes fixed down, Remus said, “You’re currently sitting on a Muggle motorbike you bought for yourself the second we finished Hogwarts last month,  which you then enchanted to be able to fly. I’m not sure you can say you’re not adventure-crazed.” _

 

_ Sirius opened his mouth, closed it, and then made a performance of tossing his hair back. “No one asked you.” _

 

_ “You asked him,” Peter pointed out, eyebrows raised. “Just then.”  _

 

_ “Whose side are you on?” demanded Sirius. “If you don’t watch yourself, you can forget about the bloody sidecar, and you can ride on a broomstick like the rest of them.” _

 

_ Peter held his hands up in surrender and shot Remus an apologetic look as he settled into the sidecar that Sirius had so reluctantly affixed to the side of the motorbike. Remus bit back a laugh and stood back from his own broom so that James could inspect the straps that secured the rucksack to the broomstick. Sirius was lending him the broomstick, choosing instead to ride his brand-new favorite toy. Peter had begged for the sidecar, and James had backed him up, muttering in Sirius’s ear that Peter was such a poor flyer that they would take almost a week for the journey if they let him anywhere near a broom. _

 

_ “Right then!” shouted James, clapping his hands in satisfaction before darting over to his own broomstick. “We’re good to go! Sirius is right, we won’t make it all the way to Saint-Nazaire without stopping, so we’ll touch down in Saint-Pol-de-Leon for lunch, then cut across western France for Saint-Nazaire, then --” _

 

_ “Then take the Portkey across the Bay of Biscay to Saint Sebastian, then fly the rest of the way to Aiako Harria Parke Naturala, where the Cup is being held,” Sirius interrupted him, impatient. “Prongs, we’ve been over this. We’ve been planning this since March. Although I’m not sure what type of Spanish name Aiako Harria Parke Naturale is --” _

 

_ “It’s not Spanish,” Remus told him as he mounted his broomstick. “It’s Basque. The Basque region has its own history and culture and language, one that long predates Roman conquest --” _

 

_ “God, you fucking geek,” Sirius groaned, swinging a leg over the motorbike as Peter chuckled. “Fine. I surrender.” He tossed Peter a helmet before swiveling around in his seat to face James. “Can we go already?” _

 

_ “Yes!” James was vibrating so hard Remus thought he would come out of his skin. “Everybody, lift off! Let’s go!” _

 

“Level six,” said the lift’s cool voice, snapping Remus back to the present. “Department of Magical Transport, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparition Test Center.”

 

Remus ducked as several interdepartmental memos swooped in and crowded around the light at the top of the lift, and before the gates slid closed, a witch behind him shouted to a wizard she spotted in the hallway. “Henry!  _ Henry! _ Crouch just told me -- Beauxbatons has confirmed their mode of transport!” The wizard who must have been Henry looked up and started towards the lift with interest, but before he could reach them, the gates began to clatter shut. “I’ll write you a memo!” the witch screamed, and Remus ducked away from her as Henry nodded and waved. 

 

“What’s the mode of transport?” another witch asked with interest as the lift continued its descent, and Remus noticed everyone else in the confined space leaning in to listen as well. Remus did his best to squeeze out of their way.

 

“Well,” said the first witch importantly, surveying her audience with satisfaction, “you didn’t hear it from me, mind you… but there’s to be an oversized carriage drawn by half a dozen Abraxans.”

 

A low murmur of awe spread through the lift, until a voice near the back piped up, “But where will they stay?”

 

The well-informed witch shrugged. “I gather that the gamekeeper will care for them. What’s his name? Hagrid?”

 

“Yes, that sounds right,” her friend agreed, but this finally caught Remus’s attention. Beauxbatons was sending a delegation to Hogwarts? What on earth for?

 

Before he could decide whether or not to ask, the lift ground to a halt again. “Level five, Department of International Magical Cooperation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law, and the International Confederation of Wizards, British seats.”

 

The witch with the information about Beauxbatons primly bustled her way out of the elevator, followed by her friend and a cloud of memos. Remus watched her go, wondering if Barty Crouch was somewhere in the maze of corridors into which she disappeared.

 

_ Dumbledore inclined his head, and Fudge made polite little bows to both Minerva and Pomona before he threw the green powder into the fireplace. The fire leapt up green, and Bones stepped in and said “Ministry of Magic!” and the flames whisked her away. Fudge placed one foot into the fire, and turned back to Crouch. “Barty?” _

 

_ “Yes,” muttered Crouch. Fudge, satisfied, stepped fully into the fireplace and announced his destination, but Crouch did not follow him. Instead, he faced Dumbledore, and Remus thought that Crouch had forgotten that anyone else was in the room. _

 

_ “We’ve been here before, Dumbledore.” He swallowed. “May I rely upon you to be as committed to justice as you were twelve years ago?” _

 

_ Dumbledore inclined his head. “Of course.” _

 

_ Crouch held his eyes for one more moment, then, still ignoring the rest of them, followed Fudge into the flames.  _

 

Crouch had tried to make enough of a name for himself as head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to make a play for Minister of Magic when Millicent Bagnold retired, Remus remembered grimly. And Dumbledore had helped him, by throwing Sirius to him without a trial. Remus wondered if Dumbledore expected him to just forget that he now knew that.

 

The lift slowed once again, and Remus forced himself to breathe deep, rolling his shoulders back and fixing his gaze straight ahead at the gates as they wrenched open. “Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau.”

 

Remus took a long, slow, deep breath, and, looking neither left nor right, stepped out of the lift. 

 

He could notice, on some level, that the hallway was warm and sunny, the enchanted windows from Magical Maintenance spilling in a beautiful summer’s day. The low hum of conversation crested and crashed around him, and he felt his heart in his throat as he dodged all the people in the corridor going about their days as he tried to disguise the obviousness of what he was looking for. His eyes darted over the placards beside the doorways interspersed along the wall, until the bile rose in his throat as he found what he was looking for.

 

BEAST DIVISION

 

Remus inhaled deeply through his nose and let the breath drift out out of his mouth. Then he walked in.

 

The witch sitting at the reception desk couldn’t have been more than a few years out of Hogwarts, and she straightened her spine expectantly when she saw Remus enter. The  professional smile died on her lips when she glanced at the badge on Remus’s chest. 

 

He forced his voice to remain neutral. “I’ve been summoned for a conduct review.”

 

“Yes.” She cleared her throat as she reached out for the letter that Flaherty and Gunnora had delivered to Remus. “Yes. Please have a seat. A representative from the Beings Division will be with you shortly, and then the Head of the Department will see you.”

 

It was as if something icy cold had trickled down Remus’s spine. “I was under the impression that conduct reviews were conducted by junior staffers. The transformation is not a criminal act, so I thought --” 

 

“The Head of Department had some free time in his schedule,” she cut him off without looking up from a sheaf of parchment that was suddenly of captivating interest on her desk, “and he decided that he personally would handle your conduct review. Please, have a seat.”

 

Remus stared at her for one more moment, not breathing. He wanted to shout at her, to protest, to turn tail and bolt out the door --

 

Her hand twitched for the charmed paperweight on her desk that he knew would summon the wizards acting as security guards, and he willed his feet to move towards the stern, rigid chairs lined up along the wall like so many soldiers. 

 

Satisfied, the reception witch returned to her paperwork. Remus again tried to focus on his breathing, intently studying the flyers pinned to the bulletin board directly across him on the opposite wall. It seemed as though the department was undergoing an audit of policies and procedures soon, in preparation for the forthcoming legislative session of the Wizengamot.

 

The room was silent except for the shuffling of the parchment on the witch’s desk and the ticking of the clock against the wall. Remus focused on his own breathing - in deep through the nose, out slow through the mouth. 

 

_ “Just focus on your own breathing,” James muttered as they strode up the corridor through the early morning light. James was so close to Remus that their shoulders kept knocking together, but Remus was grateful for the contact. “Dumbledore will understand. You didn’t do anything wrong. Snape is fine. I’m fine. The whole thing was Sirius’s fault. Dumbledore will fix it so Snape never tells anyone. I’ve got your back. Nothing is going to happen to you. Nothing.” _

 

The second hand of the clock ticked on. He had now been sitting for seven minutes. The fact that he was wryly aware that Amos Diggory was pulling a power move on him did not stop the sweat from beading on Remus’s brow, or the shake in his hands that could only be stifled by clenching his fists and shoving them into his pockets. The receptionist was refusing to look at him.

 

Four minutes later, his fingers were growing stiff and cramped in his pockets, and he eased his hands back out into the open air. He had just begun flexing them, slowly, when the door behind the receptionist’s desk flew open. Instinctively, Remus braced himself. 

 

A stone-faced Hit Wizard faced him, expressionless. “The Head of Department will see you now.”

 

_ Breathe. Deep and slow _ . “I would prefer we wait until my representative from the Office of Werewolf Support Services was here.”

 

The corners of the Hit Wizard’s mouth tightened. “The Head of Department’s time is valuable, Mr. Lupin. Your representative can join us when he arrives.”

 

Remus opened his mouth to argue, but saw the wizard’s hand twitch towards his wand. The receptionist watched, suddenly interested. 

 

Slowly, Remus closed his mouth, nodded, and stood. The Hit Wizard smiled grimly and led Remus into the depths of the office. The hallway they traversed was blank, white, and soulless; Remus could hear nothing beyond their footfalls and his own breathing. Surely, he thought, this couldn’t be where the Head of the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures kept his real office. If the goal was to intimidate Remus, it was working.

 

They walked for what felt like ages before arriving at a pair of wooden double doors. The Hit Wizard opened them, and Remus was expecting him to step aside and let him pass. But the Hit Wizard preceded him in, and took his place standing behind the ornate desk that seemed to dominate the space in the room. Remus hesitated, then crossed the threshold. 

 

Remus’s first, dispassionate thought was that the man looked nothing like his son. Amos Diggory was seated behind the desk, hands tented in front of him as he surveyed Remus. His head was shaved bald, but his bushy beard extended far past his chin and seemed to match the texture of his eyebrows. His eyes were cold, calculating. He seemed wrapped in a mist of affected toughness - a man who told himself every day that his job was dangerous, important, and that he had to look the part.

 

“Remus Lupin,” Diggory growled, eyebrows twitching. “Have a seat, please.”

 

He gestured to the only chair in front of the massive desk, and Remus silently took his place in it. He wasn't going to say anything, he reminded himself, until his representative was here.

 

“So,” Diggory grunted, pulling a prepared form towards him. “Remus John Lupin, born the tenth of March, 1960, to Lyall Lupin, a wizard, and Hope Howell Lupin, a Muggle. Bitten by Fenrir Greyback on or about September eighteenth, 1965.” He glanced up at Remus. “Does all that sound correct?”

 

Remus didn't answer. He assumed it was a rhetorical question, anyway.

 

Diggory sighed and made a performance of shoving the form away from himself across the tabletop as the Hit Wizard watched grimly. “Lupin, let’s not play games. Is it or is it not true that on the night of the ninth of June, you endangered the lives of three Hogwarts students?”

_ A cloud shifted overhead. Their whole party was suddenly bathed in the weak, watery light of the moon. _

 

_ Remus froze, clenching his fist around his wand. No. _

 

_ He hadn’t taken the Wolfsbane tonight -- and he was chained to Ron -- and Harry and Hermione were right there-- _

 

_ He was aware, on some level, of his limbs beginning to shake. Fire, hot and quick, laced through his veins, curling in tendrils around his joints. He could feel his ribs begin to fragment-- _

 

_ With his last moment of clarity, he jabbed his wand at the cuff around his wrist and gasped out, “Diffindo!” He flung himself away from Ron -- and away from Peter, but if this was what had to be done--  _

 

_ He roared out in agony as the bones in his arms splintered, piercing his skin-- he had forgotten this, he wasn’t prepared for it, the months of the potion had numbed him-- _

 

_ The wolf thought he heard Sirius shout something, but his vision tinted red, and the world around him blurred as he shook apart. He could smell it -- human flesh --  _

 

Remus remained silent as he met Diggory’s eyes. As Diggory realized that he wasn’t going to get a response, the anger burst out of him. He half rose from his seat and slammed his fist down upon the desktop. Remus willed himself not to flinch. 

 

“I said no games, werewolf!” Diggory snarled. “Answer me!”

 

_ Focus on your own breathing.  _ Remus forced his heart rate back under control before he spoke quietly. “With all due respect, Mr. Diggory, I won’t be answering any questions until my representative from the Werewolf Support Services office arrives.”

 

“I don’t have time for that!” roared Diggory. “You endangered children -- my son -- for a whole year, and I want an accounting now! You’re damned lucky we informed the Werewolf Support Services office at all, Lupin! This is --”

 

But what exactly this was, Remus did not find out at that moment, because a lilac paper airplane squeezed under the door and shot itself onto Diggory’s desk. Diggory, furious, chest heaving, held Remus’s gaze for another beat before he grabbed at the memo and ripped it open. He scoffed, deep in his throat, before he shoved the memo at the Hit Wizard. “Go get him, then.”

 

“Sir,” murmured the Hit Wizard, and before Remus could even form the words to protest, the Hit Wizard strode out and Remus was left alone with Amos Diggory. He forced his breathing to remain even, even as he curled his hands back into fists on the arms of the chair. Diggory was still standing, still looming over his desk.

 

Again, the clock counted off Remus’s fear into the silent room.

 

Remus had inhaled and exhaled three times before the Hit Wizard came back, a young Korean man who couldn’t have been more than two years out of Hogwarts in tow. “Daniel Rhee, Mr. Diggory,” said the Hit Wizard curtly, before resuming his silent watch behind Diggory’s desk. 

 

Rhee swallowed hard, but he ignored Diggory for the moment and walked straight to Remus, holding out his hand. “Mr. Lupin, I’m so sorry to not have been here when you arrived. I wasn’t informed that my presence was needed, and I apologize.”

 

“It’s -- it’s all right,” Remus responded, suddenly becoming very aware of just how dry his throat was. 

 

Rhee nodded, and glanced around as if looking for a second chair. Finding none, he shifted so that he was standing beside Remus, facing Diggory. “Mr. Diggory.”

 

Diggory ignored him, but he did resume his seat as he continued to glare at Remus. “ _ Mister _ Lupin, is it or is it not true that on the night of June ninth, 1994, you transformed into a werewolf in close proximation to three underage Hogwarts students?”

 

Remus glanced up at Rhee, who nodded once. “Yes, I was.”

 

“I see,” said Diggory, smug now. “And is it not true that you endangered the lives of those three Hogwarts students?”

 

“Don’t answer that,” said Rhee, quickly.

 

“The hell he won’t answer it--”

 

“Mr. Diggory, I’m sorry,” said Rhee, with the air of a man bravely soldiering through his own terror. “But I will not allow my client to be baited into an answer that would be self-incriminating.”

 

Remus inhaled through his nose, and forced him to let the breath out slowly.

 

“Fine,” snarled Diggory, shooting Rhee a look of pure loathing before turning back to Remus. “Mr. Lupin, is it not true that you neglected to take the final dose of the Wolfsbane Potion on the night in question?”

 

They must have spoken with Snape, Remus realized, in an effort to make this go as badly for Remus as possible. 

 

“Don’t answer that,” Rhee snapped again, more confidently this time, before facing Diggory head-on. “Mr. Diggory, as I’m sure you’re aware, it is not a crime to miss a dose of the Wolfsbane Potion, or even to neglect to take the Wolfsbane Potion at all. In fact, this department made the choice to craft the legislation as such, because this department was well aware that making the Wolfsbane Potion a legal requirement would mean that, at the very least, it would have to be priced affordably, if not made completely free to all registered werewolves.”

 

“You listen here--” started Diggory, rising from his seat again, but Rhee cut him off.

 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Diggory, but I hadn’t quite finished. My client was summoned to this office so as to confirm a transformation in public. You asked him a question to that end, which he answered. The transformation is not a crime, and so the incidental circumstances of the transformation are not relevant to this hearing. With that, I must say that I believe we are done here, and my client and I will be leaving now.”

 

He placed his hand on Remus’s shoulder, and Remus stood, willing his knees not to shake. 

 

Diggory stared at both of them, fury dancing in his eyes, his fist clenching and unclenching on his desk. Again, the second hand on the clock ticked on.

 

Finally, Diggory moved, sitting heavily back down in his seat. “Fine,” he hissed. “But, Lupin, you’d best watch yourself in the future. Laws can change.”

 

Remus forced himself to keep his face still.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Diggory.” Rhee placed his hand under Remus’s elbow and gently led him towards the door.

 

Neither of them spoke the entire length of the hallway, and Remus followed Rhee’s lead in completely ignoring the witch at the reception desk. Only once they had stepped back out into the main hallway, and the door to the office had swung shut behind them, did Remus feel himself breathe again.

 

Rhee glanced around at the bustle in the corridor, and led Remus off to the wall on the opposite side. “Are you all right, Mr. Lupin? I’m so sorry -- I wasn’t told that Diggory was doing your hearing himself, or that it had already started --”

 

“I’m fine,” Remus cut him off, his skin crawling with the need to get out of here. “But I -- I really appreciate your help. It can’t have been easy for you.”

 

Rhee laughed as if he couldn't help himself. “I’d never met him before. Diggory. Hard bastard, isn’t he?” His face paled slightly as if he hadn’t meant to say it aloud, and he shot another furtive look around.

 

“He is that,” said Remus. “Is there any follow-up we need to conduct?”

 

“None that has to happen here,” said Rhee sympathetically. “I can come to you, if that’s all right?”

 

“Yes, of course,” mumbled Remus. Better to have the Ministry come to him than to spend one more second in the Ministry. “I work at the City Arms. It’s a Muggle pub in Cardiff.”

 

Rhee made a note of it in his files. “Excellent. I’ll try to come by at some point this week.” He shifted the files around and held out his hand. Remus took it with a mumbled word of thanks.

 

Rhee started down the hallway, then paused and turned back. “By the way, Mr. Lupin, my little sister was in your fifth year class last year. Chloe Rhee.”

 

“Ah yes.” Remus felt himself smiling. Chloe was a Ravenclaw, a quiet girl, but easily one of the smartest in the class. 

 

“She’d want you to know,” Rhee went on. “She got an O on the O.W.L. She says it was your review of the fourth year material that did it.”

 

Unbidden, a warmth welled up in Remus. “Congratulate her for me.”

 

“I will.” With one last nod, Rhee disappeared through the crowd in the corridor.

 

The smile slid from Remus’s face as he turned to make his way towards the lift. It was crowded again, but he found himself unable to pay even the slightest bit of attention to his fellow passengers. He barely heard the voice of the witch announcing the different levels. His pulse was pounding too loudly in his own ears. It was over. He had survived it. It was over. 

 

He barely noticed when the lift reached the top, and the doors almost closed on him as he realized he needed to leave. Blindly, he started for the golden gates towards the Atrium, and almost stumbled when he heard someone call his name.

 

“Remus Lupin?”

 

He turned, his heart pounding wildly in his throat, only to come face to face with a tall, thin man with a receding ginger hairline and horn-rimmed glasses. The man looked vaguely familiar, but Remus couldn’t place him. “Yes?”

 

“Sorry to startle you,” the man said pleasantly. “My name is Arthur Weasley. You had five of my children, I think, in your classes at Hogwarts this year.”

 

“Yes--” Remus swallowed hard. “Yes, I did.”

 

_ “Remus… please…” Peter whimpered, looking up at Remus with pleading eyes. “Not Azkaban… it’s terrible…” _

 

_ “Didn’t you let Black rot in there for twelve years?” huffed Ron as he tried to keep up. Warmth bloomed in Remus’s chest as he looked Ron over. Ron’s eyes were still stubbornly fixed front. “You’re getting off easy,” he added. “So shut it.” _

 

“Well -- I just wanted you to know that they had nothing but glowing things to say about you. I think you may have changed my twins’ lives,” Arthur grinned. “Molly -- my wife -- and I are very grateful to you, sir. Very grateful.”

 

“I -- oh,” stammered Remus. “Oh. Thank you, Mr. Weasley.”

 

Weasley waved his hand dismissively. “Call me Arthur.” He held out a hand for a handshake. 

 

Remus felt himself smile again as he took Arthur’s hand. “Remus, then.”

 

“Remus.” Arthur nodded. “Would you be free for dinner sometime? We’d love to have you over. After the kids leave for school in the fall, if it makes you more comfortable, but we’d love to have you.”

 

Slowly, the weight in Remus’s chest lightened. “I would like that. Very much.”

 

“Excellent. Can owls find you?”

 

“Er -- yeah, they can, yeah.”

 

“Wonderful. I’ll write you soon and we can pick a date.” Arthur glanced over Remus’s shoulder at the lifts. “I’m sorry, but I have to run -- meeting with the Auror Office.”

 

“Of course.” Remus stepped to the side. Arthur shot him one last smile before hurrying away, and Remus watched him go before turning back towards the Atrium. He scrambled at his lapel, nearly ripping off his visitor’s badge as he went.

 

He did not remember anything of his trip back to Wales -- the London city bus, the train, the hours passing as day slid smoothly into evening into night. He could hardly believe it was over -- he had finished it, he had made it through. But the  _ loathing  _ in Amos Diggory’s eyes as he had looked at Remus… 

 

Vacantly, Remus walked up the steps to the front door of his flat and fumbled for the keys. It took him three tries to get the door unlocked, and he would have collapsed onto his threadbare couch had he not been attacked by a lime green colored monster.

 

“What the fu--” he choked out as the Fwooper descended upon him, cawing loudly. Remus threw his arms up and fumbled for the light switch, the bird scratching impatiently at him as he did so. “All right, all right. Damn.”

 

Once the room was finally lit, the bird retreated as Remus glared at it. It was just like Sirius, he thought, irritated, to send a letter with the flashiest bird possible while in hiding.

 

It was a bit of a wrestling match to get the two rolls of parchment off the bird, and Remus only accomplished it by laying out the last of the cold cuts in his refrigerator. But the irritation faded as his eyes skimmed over the words in Harry’s achingly familiar handwriting, and then the note Sirius had dashed off. 

 

_ Moony -- _

 

_ Got this today from the kid. I’m coming back, and I need to stay with you for a few days while I figure out what to do. Should take me about a week to get to you. _

 

_ Keep an ear to the ground. We both know who this is and what it means. _

 

_ Padfoot _

 

Yes, Remus thought grimly, he did know what it meant for Harry’s scar to hurt him again, as much as he had tried to put it from his mind. Their worst fears were confirmed, it would seem -- Pettigrew had gone to Voldemort, who was trying to come back.

 

He gazed unseeingly out the window, his mind whirling. Sirius was probably on his way already, his own safety be damned, so there was nothing Remus could do to dissuade him. 

 

And Harry. In danger. Again.  _ Again. _

 

Remus exhaled, long and slow. They would do better this time, he and Sirius. They would. They owed Lily and James that much.


	6. The Portkey

“Cedric, are you still here?” Madam Bones asked through the open door to her office, peering at him sternly over her monocle. “Go home, son!”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” said Cedric hurriedly, half standing as he scrambled to finish transferring his notes from the Hit Wizards’ administration meeting into the official form that he would turn into his supervisor the next day. “Sorry -- just trying to wrap up.”

 

Madam Bones smiled indulgently. Cedric had first met her when he was just entering primary school and she had been named head of the Investigation Department in the Auror Office. He remembered that her monocle had frightened him, but that she had gone out of her way to be kind to him, even sneaking him a coconut cake when his father wasn’t looking.

 

And although he was pretending to her that he had chosen to join her department’s internship program because of that kindness, he knew it was time to put his real purpose forward. Signing off on his notes and dropping his quill down onto his desktop, he slung the strap of his bag over his shoulder and pushed his chair back in. He made his way through the sprawl of cubicles that all the summer interns occupied, rehearsing what he wanted to say in his head as he drew ever closer to Madam Bones.

 

“Er… Madam Bones?” he started, hoping the stutter in his voice helped him sound less practiced rather than just terrified. “I was wondering… The Wizengamot opens a new session next week, right?”

 

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Madam Bones grumbled, waving her wand over her shoulder to extinguish the lamp on her desk. “Scrimgeour keeps pushing me to add more funds for the Auror Office to our proposed budget -- as if the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office and the Improper Use of Magic Office haven’t been operating at budget deficits for the last three years. I have to meet with Rufus again tomorrow, as if I don’t have enough to do what with securing the Quidditch World Cup and… well, and whatever is happening at Hogwarts this year,” she finished, tipping Cedric a massive wink. 

 

He paid it no mind -- he didn’t really have the time or energy to care about what secret all the adults in his life were keeping about whatever new nonsense was happening at Hogwarts. “Right, yeah. Well, I was wondering… can I be your note-taker? For opening session?” 

 

Madam Bones paused at the doorway out into the corridor and inspected him. He rushed on, “It’s just that… being here, working this internship… it’s made me really think about going into policy, and--”

 

“Cedric, you’re a terrible liar.”

 

He froze, staring at her with wide eyes.

 

Madam Bones glanced up and down the deserted corridor and lowered her voice. “I know how close you got to Remus Lupin, and I imagine you’re aware that your father and Dolores Umbridge are about to try to get some legislation through. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but the Department of Magical Law Enforcement will be taking a stance against that bill. I’d love to get your help on it because you’ve proven to be pretty decent at research, but I didn’t want to ask you for fear it would sound like I was asking you to spy on your father.”

 

For a moment, the words surged forward on Cedric’s tongue, the offer ready to be made. His breath caught. His stomach roiled. Had he honestly entertained that? Selling out his father like that?

 

Bones considered him silently for a moment, watching the turmoil play out over his face, before she went on. “Of course, I wouldn’t do that to you. But if you’re willing, I’m going to pull you off of your usual duties for this next week so you can help me with opposition research. Oh, and yes, you can come to the legislative session,” she added. 

 

Cedric exhaled slowly, still a little shaken by how quickly he had offered to sell out his own father. He knew he would have to think long and hard about that moment later. “Thank you.”

 

“Of course. Here--” Bones thrust her cloak and walking stick at him so that she could open her case and rifle through the parchment within. “Brush up on this. You have to know all of it if you’re going to pull off the act that you’re just there to take notes.” She thrust a scroll at him, and reluctantly, Cedric pried it open.

 

LEGISLATIVE AGENDA FOR THE OPENING SESSION OF THE 189TH WIZENGAMOT

CALLED TO ORDER ON TUESDAY, AUGUST 26TH, 1994

 

**Agenda**

  * Budgetary Items
    * Office of the Minister for Magic - Salary Adjustments
    * Department of Magical Law Enforcement - General Budget
    * Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes - General Budget
    * Department of Magical Transportation - General Budget
    * Department of International Magical Cooperation and Department of Magical Games and Sports - [REDACTED]
    * Department of International Magical Cooperation and Department of Magical Games and Sports - Balance of Accounts, Quidditch World Cup
    * Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures - [REDACTED]
  * Legislative Items
    * Department of Magical Law Enforcement - A Bill to Alter the Oversight Structure of Azkaban Prison in Light of Recent Security Breaches
    * Department of Magical Games and Sports - Petition to Host the 1998 International Gobstones Tournament
    * Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in conjunction with the Office of the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic - A Bill to Reduce the Risk that Werewolves Pose to Wizarding Society in Light of Recent Public Safety Disasters



 

Cedric’s stomach turned again.  _ Recent public safety disasters. _

 

He looked up to see Madam Bones watching him. “That’s what they’re calling it?” he whispered.

 

She nodded grimly. “As I said, my department will be in opposition to it. I have grave civil rights concerns, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

 

“Yeah,” said Cedric, his mouth dry. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

 

Madam Bones sighed and kept walking, motioning Cedric to follow her. “I’m facing an uphill battle, even with my own people. Scrimgeour and the Administrative Registration Department are also pushing the bloody ‘public safety’ line, and are disregarding the broader point that further marginalizing a group of people is more likely to push them to extremism, even if the argument that they are still deserving of basic human rights isn’t good enough for you. And I know it will pass on public vote.”

 

“So… is the goal to keep it from coming to a full floor vote?” Cedric struggled to keep up.

 

Madam Bones nodded grimly. “I don’t quite know how I’ll pull that off, though, unless I can convince Dumbledore to suspend the vote.”

 

Cedric looked at her in surprise. “You don’t think he will?”

 

She laughed once, utterly without humor. “He’s letting the bill onto the agenda in the first place, Cedric. He could have done more by now. He’s choosing not to.”

 

Cedric stared straight ahead. A hole opened up in his stomach, he could feel it. Dumbledore was supposed to be the wisest of them, the best hope for justice they had -- how could he let this happen? 

 

Neither of them spoke again as they rode a lift to the Atrium together, Cedric staring blankly at the golden grilles as they ascended. Madam Bones had to nudge his shoulder when the lift stopped and the gates slid open. 

 

“Ced! There you are, son!”

 

Cedric flinched and looked up. His father was waiting by the fountain, surrounded by aides and assistants.

 

“Go,” whispered Madam Bones when Cedric hesitated. 

 

Slowly, Cedric made his way across the parquet floor, and his father smiled at his approach. “Thank you all,” he said to the group with him. “We’ll have one last chance to clean up this bill tomorrow and then we have to submit it, so let’s make sure it’s perfect.”

 

“Yes, sir,” rose from them like a chorus as they dispersed, and Amos turned, beaming, to his son.

 

“Ced,” he repeated, warmly. “Did you have a good day?”

 

Cedric shrugged, noncommittally, and his father turned to Madam Bones. “Amelia! Good to see you.” He reached out and clapped Cedric on the shoulder. “Hope my boy is doing a good job for you, then?”

 

Madam Bones’s facial expression did not change. “Of course, Mr. Diggory. Good night. Cedric.” She nodded once at him before walking briskly off down the Atrium towards the Floo powder docks.

 

“Wonder what’s got her so upset,” Amos snorted, before winding his arm all the way around Cedric’s shoulder even as Cedric slid the scroll bearing the Wizengamot’s agenda up his own sleeve. “Shall we head home, then, son?”

 

Cedric looked neither left nor right as his father led him towards the green fire. “Sure.”

 

* * *

 

Two in the morning. Two in the bloody morning he had to wake up.

 

“Come on, now, dear,” his mother whispered as she shook him awake. “I have to be up this early and I’m not even going. Move.”

 

Cedric groaned dramatically and rolled over onto his stomach, but his attempt to drag his pillow over his head was thwarted by Allison snatching it away. “Cedric! Get up!” she laughed. “It’s the bloody Quidditch World Cup! You  _ want _ to go, remember?”

 

“I guess,” Cedric grumbled, finally hauling himself upright. “All right. Fine.” He blinked blearily up at his mother. “I’m up.”

 

She raised her eyebrows at him and drew her bathrobe tighter around her chest. “Are you going to stay up?”

 

“ _ Yes, _ ” Cedric whined. “Go away.”

 

“Fine way to speak to your mother,” Allison sniffed, but couldn’t hide her smile. “Get dressed. The house-elves are putting coffee on.”

 

Once the door closed behind her, Cedric groaned and flopped backwards onto his bed. But he only laid there a moment. The Quidditch World Cup!

 

His father had managed to get them tickets to every World Cup that Cedric remembered, but this was the first year that his mother wasn’t coming. Cedric blearily wiped the sleep from his eyes as he thought back to the conversation he had overheard a few nights after he had come home for the summer, after he had accidentally stumbled into an argument over werewolf rights with his father. 

 

_ “You need this,” Allison urged, her voice drifting up the stairwell to where Cedric hesitated on the landing. “Just the two of you. I hate seeing you fight.” _

 

_ “We weren’t fighting,” snapped Amos. “The boy just doesn’t know--” _

 

_ “Enough!” Cedric could almost picture her raising and dropping her hands in her exasperation. “Enough arguing, Amos! I’m tired of it! Listen, just take your son to an event he loves, and fix what you broke about your relationship!” _

 

_ Amos snorted. “I didn’t break anything. It’s that damn werewolf Dumbledore let into Hogwarts, corrupting the kids’ minds…” _

 

“Fuck,” Cedric muttered as he dragged a jumper over his head. He and his father weren’t even sitting anywhere near other Hogwarts students, as far as Cedric knew -- some of the Ministry department heads had gone in on a box together, like they always did. Oh well. As long as he didn’t have to sit anywhere near Barty Crouch, he supposed, he’d be okay.

 

Cedric could barely muster up the energy to keep his eyes open during breakfast, much less respond to his mother and the house-elves with anything other than grunts, as he spooned porridge into his mouth. Even so, he felt his spine get a little straighter at the sound of his father bounding into the breakfast parlour. 

 

“Ced!” he cried. “Great morning for it, eh, son?”

 

“Dunno,” Cedric muttered, dragging his spoon through the remains of his porridge. “I’ll let you know when morning happens, though.”

 

Amos boomed a laugh. “That’s my boy. Now come on, hurry -- we’re meeting up with the Weasleys at five, and it’s nearly three now. Let’s get moving, shall we?”

 

“The Weasleys?” echoed Cedric, his throat very dry suddenly. “We’re sitting with them?”

 

“Heavens, no,” Amos scoffed. “But the nearest Portkey is halfway between us and them, and we can’t have it leaving without us, now can we?” He didn’t wait for an answer before letting his own fork fall onto his empty plate with a clatter and calling for a house-elf to bring him his cloak. Cedric looked down at the table, his head suddenly heavier than it had been a moment ago.

 

_ “Astoria?” he asked, rounding the corner to see her pacing nervously along the length of the Defense Against the Dark Arts corridor, wringing her hands as the early morning light streamed in around them. “I got your message -- what’s going on?” _

 

_ “We’re still waiting for Fred and George,” she responded tersely, glancing over Cedric’s shoulder as if she expected to see the twins emerge as she spoke. “Something’s happened. Something bad.” _

 

_ “What--” started Cedric, but before he could fully form the question, they both fell silent at the pounding of footfalls from the other end of the corridor. Fred and George careened around the corner, out of breath from running, but Fred pulled up short at the sight of Cedric. _

 

_ “Why is he here, Astoria?” Fred demanded. George rolled his eyes but said nothing.  _

 

_ “Oh for fuck’s sake,” Astoria snapped, impatiently waving the twins forward. “I don’t have time for whatever Quidditch nonsense you two have had going on since November. Professor Lupin’s in trouble.” _

 

_ At that, the contempt slid from Fred’s face, and he and his brother hurried the rest of the way up the corridor. “What happened?” George demanded. _

 

_ “Snape came into the Slytherin common room about half an hour ago.” Astoria raked a hand through her hair, clearing it from her forehead. “Called us all down. Told us Lupin’s a  werewolf.” _

 

_ Two seconds of piercing silence followed her words. “What?” demanded Cedric.  _

 

_ Astoria resumed her pacing. “All he said was that last night, Lupin transformed on the grounds, and now three students are in the hospital wing, and so for our own safety, he felt like he had to tell us--” _

 

_ “Ron’s in the hospital wing,” Fred interrupted, brow furrowed. “But all that’s wrong with him is a broken leg. No bites or anything, right, George? Harry just said that Ron tripped over a Whomping Willow root and the tree banged him up a little--” _

 

_ “Not the point,” George interrupted. “If Ron and Harry are covering for Lupin, that’s great, but it’s not going to mean shit if--” _

 

_ “Does Lupin know?” Cedric asked Astoria, tension thick in his voice, but she was already shaking her head. _

 

_ “I don’t know him as well as you lot do, and I wanted your help telling him--” _

 

_ “Let’s go, then!” George snapped, and as if following sudden orders, the four of them ran, side by side, the rest of the way down the Defense corridor to the classroom door. _

 

And it hadn’t mattered.

 

Cedric was quiet as his mother wrapped him in a cloak and kissed him on the cheek as they stood in the entrance hall. “Give him a chance,” she whispered under the guise of straightening the straps of his rucksack. “I know things have been hard this summer, but let him try to make them better, Ced.”

 

Cedric shrugged. “Sure. Love you, Mum. See you tomorrow.”

 

“Have a lovely time!” Allison called after them as Amos flung his arm around his son’s shoulders and led him down the path into the watery pre-dawn light.

 

Most of their hike towards Ottery St. Catchpole was filled with random snatches of song that Amos would belt at the top of his lungs, interspersed with his own humorous observations of the countryside. They were almost there before Amos realized that the conversation had been entirely one-sided.

 

“You’re very quiet,” he observed, bumping Cedric’s shoulder with his own. “What’s the matter, not fully awake yet?”

 

“You’re peppy enough for the both of us” was the best that Cedric could come up with in response, and he internally winced, expecting his father to halt and accuse him of having a bad attitude. 

 

Instead, Amos boomed a laugh. “And why shouldn’t I be? It’s the Quidditch World Cup! To say nothing of the fact that I’m about to pass some of the biggest legislation of my career -- just wait until Fudge retires!”

 

Cedric felt his heart begin to beat in double time, despite the slow pace of their hike. “You’re going to make a play for Minister for Magic based on anti-werewolf legislation?”

 

“And why shouldn’t I?” Amos scoffed. “After what that fool Dumbledore allowed to happen at Hogwarts this year--”

 

“ _ Nothing  _ happened at Hogwarts this year!” said Cedric before he could stop himself, and almost immediately the laughter died on his father’s face.

 

“Son, do you have something you want to say to me?”

 

Cedric hesitated. The words were back again, pushing up against his teeth, the accusations of bigotry and prejudice and unlawfulness--

 

“Because if you do,” Amos went on, his voice quieter now as he took a step closer to his son, “I would just like to remind you that I am your father, and you are a child, and I would hate for you to say something you’ll regret later.”

 

They stared at each other, neither of them speaking, as the sun crept over the horizon behind them. Cedric remembered hearing whispers in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures that Amos Diggory was heartless, ruthless, not to be crossed, not to be trusted. As he stared into the face of a man he almost didn’t recognize, it struck Cedric that he knew where the whispers were coming from.

 

“No,” he whispered. “No, sir.”

 

And then his father was back, smiling widely through his beard, once again wrapping an arm around Cedric’s shoulders. “Wonderful! It’d be a shame for us to ruin today, wouldn’t it? Now, you’re the Quidditch expert -- odds on Bulgaria, right? Oh -- I think that’s the Portkey, son!”

 

He squeezed Cedric before releasing him to reach down to a tattered old boot on the ground, and Cedric was left with the same feeling of hollow cowardice that had plagued him since he had tried and failed to tell his father the truth about Remus at the start of the summer. As if that feeling of guilt would actually help anybody, he thought, disgusted with himself.

 

“Ugly old thing, isn’t it?” Amos asked as he held it up for Cedric’s inspection. “But as long as it does the job -- Over here, Arthur!” he yelled, waving his arm in the air. “Over here, son, we’ve got it!”

 

Cedric turned towards where his father was looking, and watched as the tall, thin, bespectacled figure of Arthur Weasley finish climbing the hill, leading a small crowd of Weasleys, plus Harry Potter and the black girl -- what was her name, the really smart one --

 

“Amos!” Arthur Weasley called back, reaching out to shake his father’s hand before turning back to his own group. “This is Amos Diggory, everyone. He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures -- and I think you know his son, Cedric?”

 

Cedric found a smile somewhere. “Hi.”

 

“Hi, Cedric,” said Harry, only to be echoed by everyone except the twins. Fred was glaring at Cedric, who told himself to ignore it. 

 

“Long walk, Arthur?” asked Amos genially, and Cedric wondered if it had always been this easy for his father to move back and forth between his public and private selves like that.

 

Arthur Weasley waved his hand through the air. “Not too bad, we live just on the other side of the village there. You?”

 

Amos bumed Cedric’s shoulder again. “Had to get up at two, didn’t we, Ced?” He didn’t wait for a response. “I tell you, I’ll be glad when he’s got his Apparition test. Still -- not complaining! Quidditch World Cup, wouldn’t miss it for a sack of Galleons, and the tickets cost about that.” He inspected the group around Weasley. “Mind you, looks like I got off easily,” and Cedric almost groaned aloud at the posturing about their wealth. “All these yours, Arthur?”

 

Weasley ignored what the question was really asking, and shook his head. “Oh, no, just the redheads. This is Hermione, a friend of Ron’s--”  _ Hermione _ , Cedric thought to himself, of course that was her name “--and Harry, another friend.”

 

Amos gasped as he finally looked at the brown-skinned boy hanging back with Ron. “Merlin’s beard… Harry? Harry  _ Potter _ .”

 

Cedric saw Harry sigh. “Yeah.”

 

“Ced’s talked about you, of course,” said Amos, staring unabashedly at the scar on Harry’s forehead. “Told us all about playing against you last year. I said to him, I said -- Ced, that’ll be something to tell your grandchildren that will! You beat Harry Potter!”

 

_ Cedric could barely see through the torrential rain as he streaked up the field in what he hoped was the direction that he’d seen the Snitch last. Harry was on his flank somewhere, he could feel it -- the kid was probably closing in on him, getting close enough to make a grab for the Snitch himself -- _

 

_ He thought he heard the crowd roar louder, and cursed internally at the thought of Harry closing in -- he had to win, he had to get Hufflepuff on the table for the year, they hadn’t had a good showing in the Hogwarts Cup in decades -- _

 

_ “Yes!” he hissed as his fingers wrapped around the struggling golden ball, raising his fist as the whistle sounded. He turned, searching for Harry so he could shake his hand, but couldn’t find him. All he could see was what looked like a broomstick, unmanned, drifting slowly away-- _

 

_ Horrified, Cedric looked around and then, his stomach dropping, down. A muddy scarlet blur was lying, limbs askew, on the soaking wet ground, unmoving. _

 

_ Cedric wasn’t even aware of releasing the Snitch as he pulled his broom into a dive, landing with a filthy splash only a few feet away from Oliver Wood. Madam Hooch had reached Harry and was holding her cloak up with one hand as she waved her wand above him, muttering wordlessly.  _

 

_ “Is he okay?” Cedric demanded as Wood made his way over to Hooch, splashing mud everywhere. _

 

_ “He needs the hospital wing,” Hooch muttered, “Here -- Wood -- make yourself useful -- Summon an umbrella.”  _

 

_ Wood did so as the rest of the players landed with thuds and squelches around the both of them. Angelina Johnson shoved past Cedric, impatiently pushing her hair out of her face as she, Katie, and Alicia surrounded Madam Hooch, who Conjured a stretcher for Harry. He wasn’t moving -- and he was so pale -- _

 

_ “Oh -- Diggory,” Hooch added over her shoulder. “Congratulations. Match to Hufflepuff.” _

 

_ “What?” asked Cedric, bewildered. “No -- no, we have to do a rematch! Look at him! We didn’t earn this win--” _

 

_ “You won fair and square,” said Wood, hollow, as he watched McGonagall emerge from the stands and take the stretcher from Hooch. “There’s no call for a rematch.” _

 

_ “But--” _

 

_ “C’mon, you lot,” shouted George Weasley. “Let’s go. Use your cloaks -- help McGonagall cover him up--” _

 

_ The Gryffindor team swarmed around McGonagall and helped her get Harry out of the stadium, leaving Cedric, his broomstick held loosely in his hand, in their wake. _

 

Harry didn’t move, but observed Amos silently. “Harry fell off his broom, Dad,” Cedric muttered, suddenly unable to look at any of them. “I told you. It was an accident.”

 

“Yes, but  _ you _ didn’t fall off, did you?” Amos shouted, clapping Cedric so hard on the shoulder that he stumbled forward. “Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman!”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Cedric could see Fred shifting his weight, his hand curling into a fist. 

 

“But the best man won!” Amos went on. “And I’m sure Harry’d say the same, wouldn’t you? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don’t need to be a genius to tell which one’s the better flier!”

 

Arthur Weasley chose that moment to make quite a production of dragging his watch out of his pocket. “Must be nearly time! Do you know whether we’re waiting for any more, Amos?”

 

Amos, sufficiently distracted, shook his head. “No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn’t get tickets, and there aren’t any more of us in the area, are there?”

 

“Not that I know of,” said Weasley, motioning for his children to group together. “Yes, it’s a minute off, we’d better get ready.”

 

Cedric kept his head down as Weasley explained to Harry and Hermione how a Portkey worked. He felt as if he was going to vomit -- had his father always been like this? Had he gotten worse? When had it started, and when had Cedric stopped seeing him?

 

He found himself sandwiched between the little Weasley girl, Ginny, and his own father as the all laid their fingers on the boot. The girl didn’t look at him, and he was grateful. Arthur Weasley began counting down, and then suddenly, the familiar hook jerked Cedric somewhere around his midsection. 

 

They were flying forward, all of them, in the blur of sound and color -- the nausea of memory had stayed with Cedric, and he clamped his lips shut -- if he chundered on Fred Weasley mid-transport, he’d never live it down --

 

And then his boots slammed into the ground, but by some miracle he managed to keep himself upright. All the Weasley kids, plus Harry and Hermione, fell around them, and Amos chuckled. 

 

“Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill,” said a cool female voice, just as the sun fully rose over the top of the forest around them.


	7. Chapter 7

A dog, a fugitive, and a spy all walked into a pub, Sirius thought to himself, smiling grimly as he pushed the door open. It did have the makings of a pretty terrible joke.

 

He moved silently through the crowd towards the bar, ignoring the loud conversations that the pub’s other patrons were having as well as the bustle of what looked like a fiddle quartet setting up in the corner, getting ready to perform. Sirius did have to duck around a loud man with a thick beard, fiercely debating something in Welsh with his mate, when the man waved an arm carelessly through the air to help him make his point. 

 

Finally, he managed to find a place on a barstool, and glanced around. Remus was there, working the other end of the bar, and here, closer to Sirius, was a young black woman deftly fielding the orders of the burly dockworkers vying for her attention. Sirius dug a crumpled ten-pound note out of his pocket and set it down on the bar top, figuring that the barmaid would get to him when she could. 

 

But it had been months -- years, really -- since he had been around this many people, and he could feel his back begin to tense up, his shoulders hunch around his ears. He was about to move to a table in the corner that had just opened up when the barmaid appeared in front of her, hands braced on the bartop, businesslike. “What’ll it be?”

 

Sirius smiled at her. “I’m actually a friend of Remus’s. Is he around?” 

 

The girl raised an eyebrow at Sirius. “Yeah. He’s down there, and you know that, because you can see him. He’s also working. Like I’m trying to work. So what’ll it be?”

 

Sirius laughed once. “All right, damn. D’you have a pale ale on tap?”

 

She shrugged, snatching his ten-pound note up. “Sure. A Blorenge, out of Tudor Brewery. Coming up.” Sirius watched as, quickly and efficiently, she poured his beer with one hand and made change in the till with the other. When she slid the glass in front of him, he lifted it in a silent toast. “That was impressive.” He eyed her thick cloud of black, curly hair. “You had braids the last time I was in. Is that your real hair?”

 

At that, she glared at him, sniffing once before turning to shout down the length of the bar. “Lupin! Come collect your trash, please!”

 

“What?” said Sirius, but the girl had turned her back on him and had her arms folded, waiting for Remus. Remus finished with the customers he’d been serving before tossing a bar cloth over his shoulder and turning to face the girl, only to freeze when he saw who she was standing next to. 

 

Slowly, he made his way over to them, and Sirius took the time to inspect his friend. “Sirius,” he nodded, before turning to the girl. “Liara, is he bothering you?”

 

“I just asked--” Sirius protested, but the girl -- Liara -- cut him off.

 

“Asked if my hair was real.” She shouldered past Remus to get to the other end of the bar, despite the fact that the queue had died down. “You deal with him.”

 

Remus sighed loudly as he faced Sirius again. “Haven’t you and I been friends long enough that you know better than to ask about a black person’s hair?”

 

“Apparently not.” Sirius grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

 

Remus shrugged. “It’s not me you need to apologize to, but give her a minute.” He surveyed Sirius. “You look good, Padfoot.”

 

“And you looked like hammered shit,” Sirius observed. “You just had a bout of your furry little problem, yeah?”

 

“Keep your voice down.”

 

“All right.” Sirius shrugged and hid for a moment in his pint glass as Remus studied him. “Did you get the letters?” he asked around the rim of the glass.

 

“I did.” Remus shot a furtive look about the bar. “Close is in two hours. Can you wait? And not accidentally say anything racist?”

 

Sirius raised his glass. “I’ll do my best.”

 

He had never really seen Remus in this part of Remus’s life, Sirius realized as the night went on. Remus moved as he always did, quietly and efficiently, filling orders and passing out glasses, rescuing the barmaids from loud, drunk, terrible men, and just… keeping his head down, and working hard, and trying not to be noticed, in a way that Remus didn’t deserve to have to act. 

 

But Sirius didn’t try to bother his friend again for the rest of the night, and when Liara made to slide past Sirius at the bar, he called out to her. “Oy.”

 

She glanced at him, disdainful. “Oh. You. Still here?”

 

Sirius chuckled. “I am, yeah. Listen…” He took a deep breath as she paused, one eyebrow raised. “I’m sorry. About earlier. I shouldn’t have said anything about your hair. It’s not my business.”

 

“No, it’s not,” she retorted, but after a beat, she softened. “All right. Fine.” She motioned at his glass. “Another round?”

 

“Sure.”

 

An hour before close, the crowd began to thin out, and Sirius watched at Remus told one of the other barmaids to go home. The girl smiled at him and tugged off her apron, balling it up and tossing it to him over the bar top on her way out the door. Remus chuckled and tucked it into the storage space below the till before looking up at the sound of the door opening again. The bloke who entered jerked his chin up at Remus before taking the empty barstool beside Sirius.

 

“Benny,” Remus greeted him warmly, pouring him a Guinness without having to be asked. “How are you, son?”

 

_ Son? _ Sirius raised his eyebrows in interest. Was Remus old enough to be calling people ‘son’ now? Since when?

 

“Hey, Remus. I’m good. Yourself?”

 

“Ah, not too bad. Long day.”

 

“Wouldn’t be if you took some time off every once in a while,” said Liara, appearing from nowhere and ducking around Remus to get to the till. “Y’know, just before you work yourself to death.”

 

A half-smile twitched up at the corners of Remus’s mouth, but he didn’t look up from the glass he was wiping. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

 

Sirius snorted, and the newcomer, Benny, glanced at him. “Benny. Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand for Sirius to shake.

 

Sirius eyed the offered palm suspiciously. It was odd -- he’d been out of Azkaban for over a year now, but this was the first time he had to deal with someone asking him for his name.

 

Luckily, Remus was there. “Benny, this is my mate Sirius. He’s just passing through.” He jerked his head at Benny. “Sirius, Benny. He’s Liara’s…” Remus faltered, glancing apprehensively over his shoulder at Liara. 

 

As if she could feel his eyes on her, she called without looking up, “He’s my boyfriend, Remus, it’s not a dirty word.” 

 

Benny laughed, and Sirius couldn’t help but join him as he reached out and took Benny’s waiting hand. Benny had a firm handshake, Sirius noted, and he looked at Sirius without a hint of appraisal. “Good to meet you, mate.”

 

“Cheers,” muttered Sirius, taking another sip of his drink. People. Since when did he get nervous around people? Jesus.

 

“Oy, Remus,” called a large, burly, bearded man with a heavy Welsh accent through the passthrough into the kitchen. “Kitchen’s closed. We’re gonna clean up back here and then I’m gonna send my people home.”

 

“Sounds good, Owain” Remus responded without looking up. He glanced around the room, noting that it was empty of patrons save for Sirius, Benny, and a pair of dockworkers at a table in the corner. “Liara, do you want to mop or take down the till?”

 

“I’m absolute rubbish at math and you know it. I’ll mop.”

 

Benny seemed to read in Sirius’s face that Sirius didn’t want to make small talk, so they sat in companionable silence and nursed their beers as the pub began to shut down around them. By the time the two dockworkers in the corner left, Owain and the rest of the kitchen staff had long since departed, and Liara flipped the “open” sign round in the window before stretching her arms above her head.

 

“Ready to take off, love?” Benny asked her as Remus returned from placing the counted contents of the till into the safe. 

 

“Aye,” Liara sighed. “Let me just grab my bag.” Sirius watched quietly as she collected her things and met Benny by the door, pausing to kiss Remus on the cheek on her way out. “Have a good night, Remus.” She turned to face Sirius. “Don’t be an asshole to him.”

 

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “What makes you think I’m here to be an asshole to him?”

 

Liara shrugged. “Just a hunch. Remus, I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

 

Remus nodded, and Liara flashed him a quick smile before she let Benny open the door for her, and the two of them disappeared into the deepening twilight.

 

The pub was silent now, and for a moment, Remus and Sirius just looked at each other over the gleaming surface of the bar. 

 

Sirius spoke first. “It’s good to see you, Moony. Really.”

 

Remus sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “It’s good to see you too. But you’re dumb as shit for coming back.”

 

“Kid’s in danger, Remus.” Sirius set his glass down a little harder than he meant to. “What did you expect me to do, stay gone?”

 

Sighing again, Remus poured himself a glass of stout before rounding the bar to double lock the door. “C’mere,” he muttered, taking his glass and leading Sirius to a booth in the far corner of the pub, out of view of the windows. Sirius noted that the soft lamplight threw Remus’s haggard features into sharp relief. Remus reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of folded pieces of parchment, which Sirius recognized as his own and Harry’s letters. “All right. Let’s talk about what we know.”

 

Sirius snorted. “All I know is what was in the kid’s letter -- that his scar hurt. But I think he’s lying.” 

 

Remus looked up sharply. “What makes you say that?”

 

“Tone is off.” Sirius slid Harry’s letter towards him. “He’s too casual. Trying to talk about his cousin’s…. What the hell is a Mega-Mutilation Part Three, anyway? Can’t be as cool as it sounds.” 

 

“Can you focus, please?”

 

“Right -- yeah.” Sirius ran a hand over his face. “I just feel like he’s trying not to tell me something, you know? Like he’s leaving something out.”

 

“He’s a very reserved kid,” muttered Remus, pulling the letter towards himself to reread it. “Very quiet. It’s a bit like pulling teeth to get him to tell you when something’s bothering him.”

 

Suddenly, Sirius felt a sharp, white-hot bolt of jealousy lance through his heart. Remus knew this about Harry -- Remus had access to a whole year’s worth of information that Sirius didn’t have. Viciously, he swallowed the envy down and spoke again. “You don’t think he’s hiding something, then?”

 

Remus glanced up without really looking at Sirius. “No, the opposite. I think he’s definitely hiding something. I’ve just never heard him talk about his scar hurting.” He seemed to chew on the inside of his mouth for a moment before continuing. “But obviously it’s not good -- Peter escapes and goes on the run, probably headed straight to Voldemort, and two months later Harry’s scar hurts him again.”

 

Sirius slumped back in his seat. “You think that’s where Peter went, too, then?”

 

“Where else is there for him to go?” asked Remus absently, his eyes still fixed on Harry’s letter. “My worry is what he does once he gets there.”

 

“You’re assuming he finds him.”

 

“And you’re not?” asked Remus, looking up. “Look, Sirius, it’s far past time we learned to stop underestimating him. We believed his lies for years --”

 

“Some of us longer than others,” Sirius snapped before he could stop himself, but his stomach felt as if it was falling away as Remus looked down at the table.

 

A few beats of silence passed before Remus said, quietly, without lifting his head, “You’ll never know how sorry I am for that, Sirius. If I could take it back, I would.”

 

“It’s not your fault,” said Sirius, quickly, but Remus laughed once without humor as he traced his finger in the drops of condensation his glass had left on the table.

 

“Even you don’t fully believe that, based on what you just said. But back to what we were talking about,” Remus continued, slightly louder now, before Sirius could stop him. “Yes, we have to assume that Peter will find Voldemort, and that he’s trying to do something to help him. How much access did you have to the Auror Office’s Dark Magic unit, back in the day?”

 

Shaking off the uncomfortable residue that their momentary aside had left on his skin, Sirius forced himself to answer. “Er. Not much. James and I were only out of training for about four months when he died. And our training on Dark Arts was pretty useless -- some bloke from the Department of Mysteries came in to run it, and that was that. But I’ve never heard of curse scars hurting years later without cause, and that’s what worries me.”

 

Remus nodded. “I agree. Have you told Dumbledore?”

 

“Of course not,” scoffed Sirius. “Why would I?”

 

“Because he’s the person best situated to help Harry,” said Remus, eyebrows raised. “I know what he did to you--”

 

“Not just me -- did Snape get punished at all for outing you? Did Dumbledore even try to keep you at Hogwarts?” Sirius asked angrily. “Did he?”

 

With the air of one counting the seconds, Remus inhaled and exhaled, slowly. “None of that matters now. It can’t. Sirius, if we’re right, and Peter has gone to Voldemort, we both know it’s to help Voldemort get his body back. And we have to assume that Peter is a skilled enough Dark wizard to figure out a way to do it. Again, we cannot underestimate him, and you know it. It’s only a matter of time.”

 

The simple truth of that fact hung heavily between them as they stared at each other. Sirius swallowed hard. “Fine. You’re right.” He paused, but the question burst from him before he could stop it. “But why can’t  _ you _ write to him?” 

 

He knew he sounded childish before Remus laughed at him. “Probably because I’ve been very kindly asked by the Ministry for Magic to keep my head down,” he said lightly.

 

That got Sirius’s attention. “What?” he demanded, his voice sharp, and watched as the smile melted off of Remus’s face. 

 

“Oh. Err -- it’s nothing.”

 

“God, you’ve always been such a shit liar.  _ What _ , Remus?”

 

Remus shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just -- I had a conduct review with the Ministry a few weeks ago. About how I transformed at Hogwarts in June.”

 

Sirius swore under his breath. “What happened?”

 

Remus shrugged, avoiding Sirius’s gaze again. “Nothing. They asked me questions and I answered them.”

 

“Remus.” Sirius sat forward, leaning across the table until Remus had to look at him. “Moony. It’s me. What happened?”

 

After a moment, Remus sighed, and quietly told the story of his trip to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. How Amos Diggory himself had denied him his advocate, had questioned him, had threatened him, had almost refused to let him leave. 

 

By the end, Sirius was up out of his seat, pacing the length of the bar. “I’ll kill him. Diggory.”

 

“You will not,” Remus sighed. “It happened. It’s over. It just means that I probably shouldn't be writing letters to the Head of the Wizengamot, is all.”

 

Sirius stopped pacing to stare at him incredulously. “What, it’s a better idea for an Azkaban escapee to write him?”

 

“They wouldn’t be looking for a letter from you,” Remus pointed out. “Sirius, I swear I’d do it if I could. But this is the only way that makes sense.”

 

“Fine.” Sirius threw himself back into the booth. “But my God -- I can’t believe Diggory had the balls to--”

 

“Leave it.” Remus cut him off, and Sirius could tell by his face that he meant it. “Just leave it, Padfoot. Please.”

 

Sirius nodded. “I’ll write it. I’ll even be nice in it.”

 

The ghost of a smile flitted across Remus’s face. “I’d never ask that of you.”

 

Sirius barked out a laugh, then sobered. “Moony, what does it look like? A second war?”

 

“I don’t know,” Remus murmured, staring into the shadows cast by the lamp. “Not good. You remember what it was like last time -- insidious. Creeping. We didn’t wake up one morning to face a Death Eater takeover, remember? It was a series of unconscionable things, gone unchallenged, one after the other, until it was too late.”

 

“So what do we do?”

 

“Call the unconscionable things for what they are, as early as possible.” Remus shrugged. “And pray that we’re not the only people who recognize them.” He studied Sirius’s face again. “When’s the last time you slept? And where’s the hippogriff?”

 

“Hippogriff’s fine,” Sirius responded, ignoring the first question. “Having the time of his life in Brecon Beacons National Park. I Apparated here.”

 

“Hmm.” Remus stood and stretched, and Sirius saw the wince dart across his friend’s face. “C’mon. Let’s go back to mine. I’m sure we can Transfigure the couch into something you can sleep on.”

 

It took Remus only a few moments to lock up the pub, and then they were off, striding briskly down the foggy midnight street, in and out of the puddles of orange from the street lamps. Sirius pulled the hood of his coat up over his head and held it close around his face, wary of the CCTV cameras. He’d broken into a secondhand shop somewhere in the South of France and procured himself a new wardrobe, figuring that he’d stick out more than he wanted in his tattered cutoff shorts from the beach.

 

Out of nowhere, Remus said, “Harry’s letter said the Weasleys are taking him to the Quidditch World Cup.”

 

Sirius couldn’t help but grin. “Aye. Should be a laugh. D’you know who’s in it this year?”

 

“Ireland and Bulgaria. Although I don’t know enough about either team to make a prediction.”

 

Sirius wondered if Remus was also trying to imagine what James would say.

 

***

 

It was two in the morning, and Sirius was still unable to sleep. He lay flat on his back, on the bed they’d managed to make from Remus’s sofa, hands behind his head, staring up at the light from the street lamp that had leaked through curtains and onto the ceiling. 

 

He couldn’t stop thinking about what Remus had said -- that the last time they had gone to war, it had been after it had been too late to do anything else. Voldemort had begun his slow, steady rise while Sirius and Remus and the others were still in school. God, they’d been barely more than kids when it had started -- the pureblood supremacy, the Muggleborns’ family members disappearing, the terrifying political rhetoric. And nobody -- not even Dumbledore -- had done anything to stop it until it was too late, it was normal, and they were all turning into something they didn’t want to recognize. 

 

_ “Why are they staring at her?” Marlene hissed in Sirius’s ear as they all shuffled into the Great Hall, grouped protectively around Lily. It was her first day back in classes after her mother’s funeral. She was staring ahead, white-faced and tight-lipped, and the only touch she would tolerate from any of them was James’s arm wrapped tight around her shoulders. _

 

_ Sirius followed Marlene’s glare to the Slytherin table, where he saw a cluster of seventh years -- all of them probably thick with Voldemort, Sirius thought bitterly -- whispering to each other as they watched Lily’s progress up the hall, smirks on their faces. “You weren’t at the funeral,” he muttered to Marlene, “but we were talking about how it’s a bit too neat. Rose’s car apparently veered off a deserted road in perfect weather, and she went headfirst into a ditch and died immediately. Now I’m aware I don’t know shit about automobiles, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how they work.” _

 

_ Marlene rounded on him. “We think they killed her? Lily’s mum? But why?” _

 

_ “Because they can,” Sirius bit back, scanning the group of Slytherins to see if he could catch sight of his little brother. If Regulus knew anything about Rose Evans’s death, Sirius would kill him. He would. “Fatapal says Crouch is refusing to investigate -- says it’s not normal to interfere in Muggle law enforcement matters. James thinks it’s horseshit and Crouch is getting back at Fatapal for denouncing his ‘special wartime powers’ bullshit.” _

 

_ He felt Marlene grab his wrist and pull him to a stop once they were out of sight of the Slytherins. They let the rest of the group -- James and Lily, and Remus, Peter, and Mary -- get a few feet ahead of them before Marlene spun to face Sirius. “Is that the choice we have to make now?” she hissed. “Preservation of normal process at the expense of justice? Either that or martial law? No middle ground?” _

 

Sirius hadn’t had an answer for her then, and he supposed he wouldn’t now. Not that it mattered. Marlene had died in the first war -- died fighting, like she’d said she wanted to go.

 

Restless, Sirius shoved himself out of bed and stalked over to the window. He didn’t dare twitch the curtains to the side -- the CCTV cameras, again -- so he simply stared through the sliver between them down at the street below. 

 

They had thought that they would fight this war once, and it would be over. They’d thought that everything they had risked -- everything they had given up -- was going to be worth a shit. They’d thought it meant something. 

 

But now, if Remus was right -- and Sirius smiled grimly to himself at the thought that Remus was  _ always  _ right -- the war was coming back. And then Marlene’s death, and James’s and Lily’s, and Gideon’s and Fabian’s and Mary’s and Benjy’s, would all be for nothing, and there would be a new war, and -- oh God -- this war would be Harry’s.

 

Bile rose in the back of Sirius’s throat, and he swallowed it down. It couldn’t get that far, not this time. They had to stop it in time. They had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i started grad school and forgot how to be a person for a while there


	8. Whispers and Letters

“Here.”

 

Remus was jolted awake by Sirius thrusting a roll of parchment into his face. Remus groaned and dragged his blankets over his head, trying to pretend that Sirius’s stern face and the pre-dawn light didn’t actually exist.

 

Sirius ignored him. “You have to read it before I send it,” he continued as if the blanket Remus was using as a shield wasn’t there. “Make sure it sounds polite enough.”

 

Remus peeled back his blanket just enough to glare at Sirius over its frayed edge. “Get out of my bedroom.”

 

Shrugging, Sirius dropped the parchment scroll so that it floated down to land on the bridge of Remus’s nose. “Fine. But you have to read it.”

 

Groaning, Remus rolled over, dislodging the scroll so that it fluttered to somewhere on his mattress. He waited until he heard Sirius stalk out of his bedroom and snap the door shut behind him before he huffed a sigh and sat up. The sliver of sky visible through the curtains was a murky gray, and the flat pre-dawn light leached the color from everything in his room. 

 

He patted blindly along the mattress until he found the scroll and, squinting, held it up to his eyes.

 

_ Dear Professor Dumbledore, _

 

_ I recently received a letter from my godson in which he informed me that he woke up with his curse scar hurting. He said nothing else about the circumstances or nature of the pain.  _

 

_ I thought you should know. _

 

_ S.O.B. _

 

Remus snorted to himself. He’d never get over Sirius’s initials. 

 

_ James roared with laughter, rocking his chair so hard that Remus was worried it would pitch him over and into the fire. “Your middle name is Orion? S.O.B.? Your initials are ‘son of a bitch’?” he gasped, tears of mirth streaming down his face. “Really? You’re not shitting me.” _

 

_ “Shut up, James,” huffed Sirius, trying and failing to hide his own smile. “And you can’t be that surprised. You’ve met my mother. You know the title fits.” _

 

Remus reread the letter again and scowled. He shoved himself out of bed and found a jumper to tug on over his pajamas before he left his room and found Sirius standing at the coffee maker, watching it drip scalding black liquid into the pot. “You have to tell Dumbledore you’re going back to Scotland.”

 

Sirius didn’t turn around. “No I don’t.”

 

“You bloody child,” Remus muttered, rolling his eyes. “Look, I don’t like him any more than you do, but the fact remains that he needs to have all the information possible if he’s going to protect Harry. And you.”

 

“The fuck is he going to protect me?” Sirius scoffed, his eyes still on the steady stream of coffee. “And don’t fucking… don’t sigh your long-suffering patience sigh at me, Moony.”

 

“Sirius--”

 

“D’you know what he said to me?” Sirius snapped, looking up at Remus for the first time since Remus had entered the tiny kitchen. “When I was in Flitwick’s office?”

 

Heart in his throat suddenly, Remus shook his head and waited.

 

“That the political climate wasn’t right for me to have a retrial.” He paused and barked a laugh. “A  _ first _ trial.”

 

Remus released the breath he’d been holding. “Shit.”

 

“He also said that it would be too hard to get anyone to believe me, but it was okay, because he’d send two fucking traumatized thirteen-year-olds and a hippogriff to come fetch me.”

 

Remus leaned his hip against the counter. “Yes, I’d wondered about that.” He paused and watched Sirius pour them each a cup of coffee. “But the fact remains that Dumbledore has to know if you’re back in Scotland. Think about it. He has to know that there’s a reason for Harry to try and get off grounds.”

 

Sirius grinned again, but sobered quickly. “He can’t do that shit. Not this year. We know where Wormtail’s gone, and we know why. Harry can’t put himself at risk like that.”

 

Remus resisted the urge to tell Sirius that he knew that already. The ground between them still felt so tender, where the boy was concerned. “Just say you’ll tell Dumbledore. For Harry.”

 

Sirius grunted, and Remus took it as assent. 

 

***

_ The four of them leaned up against the stile at the end of the High Street, their backs to the Shrieking Shack. None of them spoke. The first Hogsmeade weekend of the year felt different, somehow. The sun shone down weakly through the scudding October clouds, and from their vantage point they could see groups of their classmates bustling back and forth, huddled together for warmth, those who had decided it was not yet cold enough for gloves tucking their hands in their pockets in regret.  _

 

_ Peter spoke first. “Remember when this was fun?” _

 

_ A few more beats of silence passed, before Sirius grunted, “Look at them. Just wandering about like it’s not real, like they don’t know, like there’s not a fucking war coming--” _

 

_ “Maybe they don’t know, Pads,” James interrupted, a note of resignation in his voice. “They don’t want to know. It’s easier not to know.” _

 

_ “That’s bullshit.” _

 

_ “It’s not,” Remus murmured. “And it’s probably what he wants.” _

 

_ “Who?” Peter whispered. _

 

_ “You know who.” Remus shoved his hands into his pockets. “If I were him, if I were trying to get myself power through a cult of fear, I’d want as few people to be sure of me as possible. If I’m not for sure anywhere, I could be anywhere.” _

 

_ There was another moment of silence, and then Sirius said, his voice hard, “You seem to have given quite a lot of thought to this.” _

 

_ “Shut up, Padfoot,” snapped James. “We’re not doing that. Not here. And anyway, you know Moony is right.” _

 

_ Sirius mussed up his hair. “Sorry,” he muttered, without looking Remus’s way. _

 

_ “S’okay.” _

 

_ “Let’s go to the Three Broomsticks, yeah?” James asked abruptly. “Maybe Rosmerta will finally sell us firewhiskey this year.” _

 

_ *** _

 

“Order up,” Remus called, glancing around for Tess. She was training the new girl -- Mary, Remus reminded himself, the new girl had a name and it was Mary -- and he knew that she’d probably want the new girl to carry the tray. Just in case, he set out a set of empty glasses in the event the tray wobbled. He was doing his best to avoid thinking about Sirius, back in his flat, reading through all the back issues of  _ The Daily Prophet _ that Remus had been able to get his hands on, scouring them for any trace of activity that could have been linked to Peter. Remus hadn’t bothered to tell Sirius that he had already done just that, and had come up with nothing. He could almost see it itching its way out of Sirius’s skin, the frantic need to be  _ doing _ something.

 

The new girl --  _ Mary _ \-- followed Tess to the bar, a look of determination on her face. “Okay, so lift from your knees,” Tess whispered, “and hold the tray at chest level. Brace your free hand on top of the tray for extra stability -- yes, like that. There you go.”

 

Remus felt Owain lean up against the pass through window to the kitchen, and the two of them watched together as the new -- Mary Mary Mary -- calmly and confidently walked the tray over to the six top, placing it down lightly on the edge before passing the drinks out. Remus couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief as not one drop spilled. 

 

“Nice,” muttered Owain. “Guess she’s a keeper, then.”

 

Remus hummed without turning around. “Got to run it by Will, though.”

 

Owain snorted. “Lupin, how many times have you seen Will since you started here? Twice?”

 

“Three times.”

 

“Exactly. He won’t care. As long as she’s got big tits and a great arse, he could give a shit about a girl on wait staff.”

 

Remus said nothing, because Owain was right. The owner of the City Arms also owned three other pubs in the greater Cardiff area. From what Remus gathered, Will had inherited the businesses from his uncle, and at the moment most of his energies were devoted into turning the pub closest to Cardiff University into a nightclub. Liara and Remus agreed that the idea was idiotic, but hoped against hope that it would work, because they had no doubt that one of Will’s properties failing would directly impact the others. 

 

Just as Remus thought Liara’s name, the front door opened and she breezed in, holding up a fistful of envelopes. “Mail call!” she sang, sliding up onto a bar stool for a few moments before her shift started. “Is there any coffee left?”

 

“Yes.” Remus poured her a cup and added some cream as she flipped through the envelopes.

 

“Letter from our payroll guy, letter from the landlord, advert, advert, letter from the electricity company… Oh, Remus, this is addressed to you.”

 

Remus looked up sharply. The last time mail had come to him at work, it had been the in-person delivery from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, courtesy of Flaherty and Gunnora.

 

He could feel Liara’s eyes on him as he picked up the envelope she’d slid across the bar to him, but his stomach dropped when he saw the glistening emerald green ink spelling out his name and the pub’s addressed in neat cursive.

 

“I’m on break,” he muttered to no one in particular, and slid out from behind the bar before anyone could comment.

 

He avoided Owain’s gaze as he ducked through the kitchen, aiming for the back door. The sky was a bruised, purplish gray as he stepped into the alley, McGonagall’s letter curled tightly in his fist. He glanced around to make sure he was alone before he took a deep breath, ignoring the stench emanating from the dumpster a few feet away. 

 

The wax of the seal crackled under his fingers as he split the letter open.

 

_ Remus,  _

 

_ A mutual acquaintance of ours reached out to Albus earlier this week. I would very much appreciate it if you would join me for a late evening tea on 18 August in my office so that we may fully discuss the contents of our mutual acquaintance’s letter. The barkeep at the Hog’s Head has most accommodatingly indicated that he will make his fireplace available for your use, should you be able to transport yourself to my office. I shall await your coming at eleven o’clock in the evening. _

 

_ Hoping you are well, _

  1. _McGonagall_



 

Remus read the letter twice before he leaned back against the rough brick wall of the pub, sighing. Of course this had become his problem. He had anticipated that much. 

 

But he didn’t want to go back to Hogwarts. Not this soon.

 

And he certainly wasn’t ready to face Minerva McGonagall again. Not after what she had accused him of. 

 

_ “I have some news,” Minerva said, and Remus noted the change in her tone from lighthearted and conversational to more grim. “Scrimgeour has decided to pull his Aurors from even a nominal presence near the castle.” _

_ Remus schooled his face to keep still. “Why?” _

_ “A series of alleged sightings through the West Midlands and Worcestershire. The search is being redirected there. Scrimgeour and Robards seem to think that Black may make his way into Wales, and from there to Ireland.” _

_ Remus did not reply right away, but he knew, as much as he could ever be certain of anything, that Sirius was not going to Ireland. There was no reason for him to do that. He was still here. Remus didn’t know why, but Sirius was here. _

_ “I see,” was all he said. _

_ “Remus --” she reached out and touched his elbow, and reluctantly he turned to face her. Her expression was earnest, and her eyes seemed more vulnerable than usual behind those square spectacles. “What can I do? How can I make this right?” _

_ He shrugged, casually stepping away from her hand. “There’s nothing to make right, Minerva. Now -- if you’ll excuse me -- I do have a class of first-years starting in a few minutes.” _

 

A small voice in the back of his head reminded him that Minerva had, as it had turned out, been correct to suspect that Remus would help Sirius, given half the chance. But that wasn’t the point.

He sighed. The request wasn’t really a request, and he knew it. Deciding it was better to get it over with, he shoved off from the alley wall and reentered the pub.

 

Liara was waiting for him behind the bar, her hands on her hips, but before she could say anything, he asked her, “Can you cover for me the day after tomorrow? Closing shift?”

 

Her eyebrows shot upwards on her forehead. “You’ve been here almost three months and you’ve never once needed a shift covered.”

 

“Right, so you could say I’m due.” Remus avoided her eyes and pretended to find a glass that needed polishing. 

 

Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Liara hadn’t moved. “Does this have anything to do with your mysterious mate who was in here last night?”

 

“Look, Liara, will you cover for me or not?” he snapped, the question coming out sharper than he meant it to, and he winced when her eyes widened and she dropped her hands from her waist. “I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s fine,” she said slowly, studying him. “Of course I’ll cover for you. And if it’s that serious, I won’t ask, but…” she glanced around and lowered her voice. “You know you can talk to me, right? If it’s serious?”

 

“I know,” Remus sighed, still avoiding her gaze. “Thanks for covering for me.”

 

“Anytime.” 

 

***

 

_ “I need a medic!” Remus shouted, his voice hoarse as he and Sirius raced through the stately double doors of the Bones family estate. Edgar Bones had volunteered his family’s country manor for this month’s temporary Order of the Phoenix headquarters, but Remus didn’t care at all about his surroundings as Marlene moaned in agony where she lay on the stretcher he had conjured for her.  _

 

_ “I’m here,” barked a Healer Remus didn’t recognize, appearing from the ground floor drawing room and ushering them towards the formal dining room, which they had converted to the triage room. “What happened?” _

 

_ “Reductor Curse got fired off at her and exploded the wall next to her,” panted Sirius as they tumbled into the room after the Healer. “We don’t know if the curse itself hit her, or--” _

 

_ “Thank you,” said the Healer without looking away from Marlene. “Please wait outside.” _

 

_ “But--” _

 

_ “Go. Now.” _

 

_ Remus gripped Sirius by the elbow and dragged him back into the hall. The door slammed shut in their faces, and for a moment they both simply stood there, staring at it. Unable to move. Unable to breathe. _

 

_ “Oy!” _

 

_ Feeling as if he was moving underwater, Remus turned slowly to see Gideon Prewett rushing towards them from the dining room, Emmeline Vance hot on his heels. Face twisted up in concern, Gideon pulled Sirius in for a rough hug before releasing him and throwing his arms around Remus, who numbly registered his inability to return the gesture. _

 

_ “What happened?” Gideon demanded as Emmeline in turn wrapped her arms around Remus’s ribs.  _

 

_ “They knew we were coming.” Sirius’s voice was hoarse. “We didn’t even get anywhere near the target. We just… we landed, and they were there. And then -- and then --” _

 

_ “Okay, it’s all right,” soothed Emmeline. “Shh. Shh. Here --” she glanced at Gideon and looped her arm through Remus’s. “Let’s get you both something to eat. And are you hurt? Either of you?” _

 

_ Sirius snorted. “We’re fine. And I’m not hungry.” _

 

_ “Me neither.” Remus let the words fall from his lips. His vision was fading in and out of focus, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. Blankly, he looked over Emmeline’s shoulder as she steered him towards the dining room. “Where’s Mary? And Peter?” _

 

_ It was Gideon who answered. “Mary’s got security detail at Downing Street tonight. We haven’t heard from Peter in a few hours but he should be here soon.” _

 

Marlene had died that night, Remus remembered. The Healer had come out to tell them, and Sirius had raged, but Remus hadn’t believed it. Not at first. Not for hours.

 

He had had to believe it eventually, though, because Sirius was in no fit state to write to where James and Lily were in hiding and tell them. Peter had not arrived at the Bones Manor for another several hours, and only now did it occur to Remus to wonder if Peter had been deliberately waiting until they had been told, so that he would not have to perform his reaction to the news.

 

So much of that last year and a half -- when things had gotten bad, when they felt they were losing, when it became a legitimate question of what would happen to the rest of them if one of them were to die -- had been spent wondering where Peter was. Remus himself had been gone so much, spying on the werewolves for Dumbledore, that he had hardly noticed, but Sirius had. Sirius had noticed that Peter was gone, that Remus was gone, and that everyone else was dying. Of course one of them had to be the spy. And, logically, Remus could see how it would have made more sense for him to be the spy. After all, they all knew for certain that Remus was spending plenty of time with Voldemort’s supporters. Double agents had been turned for less.

 

And no one had suspected Peter again. Marlene and Lily and James had not been the only people to die because of Peter, and Peter had very nearly gotten away with it.

 

Now, thirteen years later, here they were again -- Peter gone, disappeared to who-knew-where, and someone else’s life ruined for his spying.

 

A faint hint of red just barely tinged the western horizon as Remus drew his collar up around his ears and strode down from the hill he had Apparated to. He forced himself to spare no glance for the Shrieking Shack as he avoided the path that would have led to the Hogsmeade High Street in favor of a tangle of back alleys and shadowy corners. The last thing he wanted was to be recognized in Hogsmeade, two months after being driven from Hogwarts Castle in shame.

 

In the distance, he could hear the sounds of summer spilling out from the open doors of the Three Broomsticks, and he averted his gaze. Rosmerta had been a good friend to him last year, when she had absolutely no reason to be, and he didn’t want to look into her eyes now that she had to have found out what he was.

 

He did not lift his eyes from the ground again until he pushed open the door to the Hog’s Head. A quick scan of his surroundings showed him three other patrons, two sitting together by the dying fire and speaking in hushed, urgent tones, and a third, wrapped in bandages, sitting alone at the window. None of them looked up as Remus, hands in his pockets, made for the bar.

 

It reeked of goats, as it always did.

 

The heavily bearded bartender didn’t look up from the glass he was wiping down until Remus had come to a halt directly before him, waited a few seconds, and cleared his throat. The bartender glanced up through heavily bushy eyebrows and grunted, “Lupin?”

 

“Y-yes,” stammered Remus, and before he could say anything else, the bartender threw down his rag and jerked his shoulder towards the staircase. Remus glanced towards the lit hearth in the midst of the pub. “Er--”

 

“If you want that lot knowing where you’re off to, you can use the public hearth,” grunted the barman as he started up the stairs. “I was about to let you use the one in my private rooms, though.”

 

“That’s likely a better idea, yeah,” muttered Remus as he followed him.

 

Once they reached the shadowed landing, the bartender shoved the lone door open and didn’t wait for Remus to follow him in. As the bartender pointed his wand at the grey wood in the hearth and muttered, “ _ Incendio _ ,” Remus couldn’t help but study the portrait hanging above the mantle. A young girl, blonde and elfin, smiled into the room, her eyes not focusing on anything in particular. 

 

The bartender caught him looking. “Mind your own business,” he growled, thrusting a pot full of a dimly glittering green powder into Remus’s hands. 

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Remus muttered as he took a pinch of powder and tossed it into the flames. When they leapt up, emerald and bright, Remus glanced back at the bartender. When the bartender didn’t react at all except to glare, Remus just sighed and stepped into the fire. Closing his eyes, he said, “Transfiguration offices, Hogwarts School.”

 

The last thing he saw before he whooshed out of sight was the bartender stumping back out onto the landing.

 

Remus swallowed hard on the nausea threatening to creep up his throat, and squeezed his eyes tightly as he spun through the green flames. Luckily, it was a short ride, and he managed to keep his knees from buckling when he landed in Minerva McGonagall’s hearth. He let out the breath he’d been holding and let the smell of ash invade his senses. Rolling his head around on his neck one more time, he forced himself to step out.

 

Minerva McGonagall was standing there waiting for him, hands clasped in front of her and square spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose, as ever. Remus shoved his hands into his pockets, so as to ward off a handshake. “Minerva.”

 

“Remus,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

 

He didn’t answer. The last time he had seen her had been on the morning of the Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL exam, and days before… everything had happened. And he still remembered how ready she had been to believe that he had been lying to her, that he had been helping a murderer sneak into the castle and get to Harry.

 

Minerva seemed to read all of that on his face, for she sighed, and gestured to where a small tea service was set up before a pair of formal wing-backed chairs by the office window. “Shall we sit, then?”

 

Remus nodded and followed her, sitting uncomfortably and waiting for her to pour the tea. He noted that she still remembered that he took his tea with only a splash of cream, but three sugars. “Here, Remus.”

 

For a moment, they studied each other, and Remus noted that some of Minerva’s customary sternness seemed to have melted from her face. “How is he?”

 

“You know I haven’t written to Harry,” Remus responded, keeping his voice even. “Dumbledore told me not to.”

 

Minerva winced. “I meant…” she glanced towards the door before her eyes again fixed on Sirius. “I meant Sirius.”

 

Remus hid behind his teacup for a moment. “He’s fine. Well enough. I won’t tell you where he is, though.”

 

“Of course not,” Minerva demurred, before placing her teacup down and clasping her hands before her again as she leaned towards Remus. “Remus… you have to believe me, if I’d known…”

 

His throat closed. He couldn’t do this, not now, not with her. “Minerva, it’s fine. I didn’t know either.” For something to do with his hands, he drank more of his tea. “What specifically did we need to discuss?”

 

After a beat, Minerva sighed and sat up straight, and when she spoke, her voice had back some of its customary briskness. “Albus showed me the letter that Sirius sent. All the boy told Sirius was that his scar was hurting?”

 

Remus nodded. “Yes. He buried the information at the bottom of a rather chatty letter, like he was trying to downplay its severity. I wouldn't be surprised if there’s more to it, whether in the intensity of the pain or… or a vision, or dream, or something.”

 

Minerva hummed her agreement. “Probably, yes. I’ll try to have him go see Poppy as soon as the school year resumes. Have her keep an eye on him.”

 

Remus, who knew exactly what it felt like to have the school nurse keep a close eye on him over something he could not control, did not respond.

 

But Minerva didn’t notice. Instead, she asked, “Is Sirius coming back? To Scotland?”

 

“I wouldn’t know.” Remus kept his face blank. Damn it, he knew he should have checked Sirius’s letter again after he’d told Sirius to add that information. That said, he couldn’t say he was bothered by Minerva not knowing. The fewer people made aware of Sirius’s location, the better.

 

She sighed, impatient. “Remus, listen to me. Things are going to be complicated enough at the castle this year, what with--”

 

But before she could continue, there was a frantic tapping on the window, and Remus could not help but jump. Frowning, Minerva stood and hurried to the window, letting in the owl scraping its claws against the glass. She hastily tore the scroll from the owl’s leg without moving away from the window and ripped it open, her eyes moving quickly down the page. The smallest of gaps escaped her lips, and Remus rose to his feet.

 

“What is it?”

 

She held up one finger and read the note again before meeting his gaze. “Where is Harry, Remus?”

 

“With -- with the Weasleys,” Remus answered, feeling his heart rate kick. “Arthur got tickets to the Quidditch World Cup. Why?”

 

“The campground.” The letter crumpled in Minerva’s fist. “Something’s happened.”


	9. The Dark Mark

“That was fucking fantastic!” roared Anthony, pushing himself into a jump by bracing his hands on Cedric’s shoulders from behind. “That Wronski Feint! Bloody hell! We all thought Krum was gonna eat shit for a second there--”

 

“And the Chasers!” shouted Daisy. “That was a brilliant offensive strategy--”

 

“And then Lynch just smashed into the ground! Twice!” Anthony was shouting now, waving his arms with enough enthusiasm to startle the people around them as the massive crowd made its way back from the stadium.

 

Carefully, Cedric wrapped his arm around Anthony’s wrist and pulled him close. “Exactly how much firewhiskey did you have?” he whispered, keeping one eye on his father’s back as Amos, conversing loudly with his own friends, led them all back towards the campground.

 

“Enough,” muttered Anthony. “At least as much as Brian did.” He blanched. “Oh no…” 

 

Cedric shoved him off the path. “If you’re gonna chunder, do it there. We’ll wait for you.”

 

But Anthony braced himself against a tree with one hand, and though he took a few deep breaths and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, he eventually managed to stand, triumphant. “I’m good.”

 

Cedric laughed. “All right. But for real, that Wronski Feint was something else -- I’m gonna have to try that out this season--”

 

“Ced!” he heard his father’s booming voice interrupt, and he flinched. They were at the trailhead now, back in the campground, and Amos’s friends waited expectantly while Amos clapped Cedric on the back. 

 

“Tom, Dionysius, Clayton… you all remember my son Cedric, don’t you? Best Quidditch player at Hogwarts now… I’m sure we’ll be seeing him play in a World Cup in not too long…”

 

Cedric thought about reminding his father that he was enrolled in NEWT courses to be a Healer, but decided against it as he was pulled in for handshakes. 

 

“Anyhow, son,” Amos continued, “Clay here is having us all over for a nightcap.” He glanced over Cedric’s shoulder at where Anthony was just barely managing to stand up straight, Daisy’s brother Brian surreptitiously supporting him. “You can have your friends in our tent if you like, but… just make sure there’s not a mess.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Cedric couldn’t help but grin. His father nodded once in approval before he and his cronies left Cedric and his mates to their own devices. “C’mon, you lot,” Cedric tossed over his shoulder. “Let’s get Anthony sobered up.”

 

“Orrrr….” Anthony slurred, “we could get Anthony some more firewhiskey.”

 

“How can you even drink that stuff?” Daisy complained loudly. “Tastes like pure rubbing alcohol.”

 

“‘Cause it threatens his masculinity to drink anything that tastes sweet,” muttered Rinko, and Cedric bit back a laugh. 

 

They managed to get back to Amos’s tent with no more major upsets, and Brian deposited Anthony onto the overstuffed loveseat. “You’ve got to get better at holding your liquor, mate.”

 

“Haven’t puked yet, though, have I?” Anthony said proudly, stretching his arms into the air before folding them and tucking his hands behind his skull.

 

“Right,” snorted Cedric. “Anthony, I’m putting on a pot of coffee for you. Everyone else, you’re off hard stuff. There’s got to be a bottle of wine around here somewhere, though.”

 

Daisy took it upon herself to root though the kitchen cabinets while everyone else folded themselves into chairs around Anthony, still talking and laughing loudly about the match. “Ced,” called Rinko, “is Lynch gonna be okay? After plowing into the ground like that?”

 

Cedric grimaced as he watched the coffee begin to drip into the pot. “I don’t know. I mean I’m sure the healers will get him sorted, but it was dumb as shit for him to fall for that twice.” 

 

“Glad I’m not the only one who thought that.” Daisy had managed to unearth one of Amos’s bottles of red wine, and she tapped her wand against the neck to pop the cork out before she went and flopped onto the loveseat in the little space Anthony hadn’t taken up. “But. To Ireland!”

 

Cheers rang through the tent, and Cedric brought Anthony his cup of coffee before claiming a space on the floor beside Brian. “Shame about The United Kingdom, though,” muttered Anthony, taking a sip. “Still, it’s nice to win one for the British Isles.” 

 

Daisy and Brian both snorted loudly, and Anthony looked back and forth between them. “What?”

 

“You lot tried to conquer us and then rigged our elections and slap these monstrous trading practices on us, and then think our national sports are for you?” Daisy wrinkled her nose. “Imperialists.”

 

Cedric snorted into the wine bottle that Daisy passed him as Anthony held his hands up in surrender. 

 

Their spirited conversation about the match, and indeed the whole season, continued on for hours. Anthony eventually fell asleep, but the others simply spoke over and around him, confident that their loud voices wouldn’t disturb him. 

 

As Cedric tipped his head back against the arm of the chair he was leaning against, he realized that this place -- here, with his friends, passionately discussing nothing in particular -- this was his favorite place to be. 

 

They were almost about to call it a night when an explosion sounded somewhere in the distance, followed by screams.

 

Immediately, everyone fell silent, and Brian met Cedric’s eyes from across the floor. “That doesn’t sound like fireworks.” 

 

“No, it doesn’t.” Cedric stood and drew his wand, feeling his friends’ eyes on him as he strode to the entrance of the tent, the last tendrils of the alcohol seeping out of his body.

 

He twitched back the flap of the tent and swore. 

 

There, in the distance, through plumes of smoke, he could just barely make out four human figures levitating several dozen feet up off the ground. They were being suspended by a mob of masked figures, wands pointed up towards the inky night sky. Cedric could just barely hear the sound of their laughter over the screams of the bystanders and the explosions as they set fire to the tents in their path.

 

Daisy stood. “Cedric? What is it?”

 

He dropped the tent flap and dashed across the tent to find his shoes. “Bunch of fuckers got hold of a family and are levitating them -- looks like torture -- and they’re trashing the campground. They’re wearing masks.”

 

“Masks?” snapped Brian. “Death Eaters?”

 

Everyone froze, staring at Brian. “Can’t be,” said Cedric slowly. “It’s been years…” 

 

“We’ll worry about this later,” interrupted Daisy. “Let’s go. We can help get them down.”

 

“What about Anthony?” piped up Rinko, anxiously.

 

Cedric hesitated for only a moment, then grabbed a glass of water and threw it into Anthony’s face. Anthony startled awake with a sputter. “Wha--”

 

“Get up,” Cedric snapped, wincing as the screams got louder. “Listen. Rinko is going to take you into the forest. Stay there with her. We’ll come get you both when--”

 

“Cedric, I want to come, I want to help--”

 

“Rinko, I’m sorry, but someone has to take care of Anthony.” Cedric looked away from her stricken face to where Daisy and Brian were drawing their wands and preparing to follow him. “Just go. Be careful.”

 

“You too,” whispered Rinko, as she went to tug Anthony, still bleary-eyed, to his feet. 

 

Cedric didn’t look back as he shoved his way out of the tent, Daisy and Brian hot on his heels. “Oh my God,” whispered Daisy, finally catching sight of the floating figures as they pushed against the current of screaming people rushing towards the woods. “It’s the family that runs the campground. They’re Muggles.”

 

“Shit,” muttered Brian and they all watched, momentarily horror struck, as the smaller child began to spin in midair like a top, his head flopping about on his shoulders.

 

“C’mon!” Cedric led them onward, pushing through the mob to where the masked marchers were advancing. Small scuffles had begun to break out between the masked figures and the campers, but it was clear that hardly any of the campers were skilled enough duelers to go up against Dark Magic -- for Cedric now had no choice but to agree with Brian’s assessment, and acknowledge that these were Death Eaters. 

 

One of the masked figures noticed Cedric, and raised its wand. Just as Cedric braced himself to cast a Shield Charm, a figure slammed into him from the side, knocking him to the ground. “Get down!”

 

Cedric pushed himself upright just in time to see the man who had knocked him over trade a few curses with the Death Eater before finally managing to land what looked like a Stunning Spell in the Death Eater’s stomach. 

 

“Watch it, kid,” the man muttered, extending a hand to help Cedric up.

 

“Ch-Charlie?”

 

Cedric recognized Charlie Weasley, of course -- Charlie had kicked his ass enough on the Quidditch Pitch before he had graduated. “What’re you doing here, Ced?”

 

“We want to help.” Cedric shook his hair out of his eyes and gestured over his shoulder at Brian and Daisy. “We can help.”

 

Charlie studied them for a moment, then sighed. “Fine. Stay close together. We’re trying to stop their advance.”

 

“Oy!” shouted a man who looked like an older, cooler version of Percy Weasley. “Charlie -- get your friends to fall in! We’re trying to make a ring --”

 

“On it, Bill!” Charlie shouted back, casting a Rebound Charm to give Cedric, Brian, and Daisy enough time to group up in a row beside him. A bright green jet of light whizzed past Cedric’s ear, and he flinched. 

 

Another Death Eater met Cedric’s eyes through his mask, and Cedric heard the man snarl as they both raised their wands. “ _ Incendio!” _

 

“ _ Aguamenti! _ ” snapped Cedric, with just enough time to splash a stream of water to kill the jet of fire that the Death Eater shot at him. “ _ Protego! _ ”

 

“Good work, kid,” gasped Charlie, taking out another of the Death Eaters by shooting a Reductor Curse at his knee; the Death Eater fell, screaming. “Oy, everyone, make sure you keep casting Shield Charms! Pin them in if you can!”

 

“ _ Stupefy! _ ” Cedric heard Daisy scream, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw another Death Eater fall. On her other side, Brian grunted as a Death Eater blasted through his Shield Charm. 

 

“Hold steady!” roared the man who had to be Bill Weasley. “C’mon -- get ‘em surrounded, push in--”

 

Cedric grunted as someone slammed into him from behind, knocking him to his knees again. He heard a Death Eater roar in triumph and charge him from within the circle, and Cedric did the only thing he could think of -- he rolled to his back, jabbed his wand upwards, and bellowed, “ _ Confringo! _ ” 

 

The Death Eater was blasted skywards, flying past where the Muggles were still suspended, helpless, senseless. Cedric scrambled upright as Charlie cast another Shield Charm to fill his space in the circle. “You okay, kid?”

 

Cedric didn’t even bother to answer -- another Death Eater had sprung up before him, laughing a snarl, dragging his wand in a slashing motion. The spell, whatever it was, was blunted by the Shield Charm but still knocked Cedric back a few paces, away from Daisy and Charlie. Drawing on everything he knew about dueling, Cedric rallied, gulping in a deep breath, leveling his wand at the Death Eater’s chest -- 

 

_ “If you ever find yourself in a situation where you have to duel someone for your life,” said Professor Lupin, hands in his pockets as he strolled up and down the aisles between the desks, “you have a very important question to ask yourself. What is your goal?” _

 

_ He paused expectantly, and only then did they realize that he wanted an answer of some kind. Cedric exchanged a glance with Angelina, who shrugged.  _

 

_ “To win?” volunteered Fred Weasley, hand raised. _

 

_ Lupin chuckled. “Sure, but I’ll rephrase. What does winning  mean to you?” When no one answered, he looked out and surveyed them all. “You want to win. You want to defeat your opponent. But does that mean getting yourself and your loved ones out of a dangerous situation?” He waited another beat. “Or does it mean finishing your opponent? Killing him?” _

 

_ Cedric winced. “Surely there has to be a middle ground? Between running away and murder?” _

 

_ Lupin met his eyes, his gaze calm. “You tell me. Because the answer says a lot about what kind of fighter you’re going to be.” _

 

A scream of pain sounded from somewhere to Cedric’s left, and before he could stop himself, he broke concentration with his own duel to look over. A camper fell, clutching at a gash pouring blood out of her chest, and moments later the Death Eaters rushed the spot where her body had previously stood, trampling her, escaping the circle --

 

“Close it off!” someone howled. “ _ Close it off! _ ”

 

But the voice was drowned out by the roars of glee from the Death Eaters, spilling forth, cackling, casting fire spells on everything in their path -- 

 

“ _ Shit _ ,” whispered Charlie. “There’s not enough of us -- they’re heading for the forest --”

 

A bolt of green light slashed across the sky, casting everything in a sickly glow. 

 

Screams erupted again, but it took Cedric a moment to realize that it was the Death Eaters who were terrified, were shrieking, were Disapparating faster than the campers or the Hit Wizards who had suddenly appeared could stop them -- 

 

“The Muggles!” Daisy cried, pointing.

 

Cedric’s head whipped around just in time to see the little family shiver in midair and just barely begin to fall --

 

“ _ Arresto Momento!”  _ bellowed Charlie and Bill together, and Cedric watched without breathing as the four figures tumbled towards the earth, only to slow a few feet before they hit the ground. 

 

“Ced!” gasped Brian, rushing to him just as Daisy threw herself into her brother's arms. “You all right?”

 

“Yeah… yeah, you?” Cedric breathed looking over the both of them, noting how pale they both were in the dying green light. 

 

“We’re good,” Brian muttered, as the three of them finally turned to look up at what was causing the sallow green glow.

 

Cedric felt his breathing stop. Daisy pressed her hand over her mouth. 

 

The Dark Mark, glittering and vicious, shimmered above the treeline. All around where the three friends stood on the ground, horrified whispers broke out. Cedric swallowed hard. He had only ever heard of it, seen illustrations in books, but -- 

_ “Can you tell me what it was like?” Cedric asked quietly as they patrolled the castle hallways together. _

_ He felt Professor Lupin glance at him, and he looked over to see the man’s eyebrows raised. “What, wartime?” _

_ Cedric nodded jerkily, feeling a dull flush creep up his neck. “But I mean. If you’d rather not -- I mean, I understand. I just --” _

_ Lupin faced forward again. “No, it’s all right.” He paused, a faraway look in his eyes, and Cedric wondered if he would answer. But then, after a few moments, Lupin said, “You have to understand that it didn’t feel like a war, not at first.” Cedric nodded, waiting. “There would be one or two instances of major property destruction, but against Muggles. There was mostly… it was a shift in political attitude. More and more anti-Muggle rhetoric, anti-Muggleborn rhetoric. Laws started getting proposed -- some of them even passed -- about blood tests, screenings, things like that.” He sighed and came to a halt, looking out one of the windows over the grounds. “Three or four times, this faction of the older pureblood families in the Wizengamot tried to pass a law that would require a child to prove that they were no less than a quarter pureblood before they purchased a wand…” _

And in that moment, all the blood in Cedric’s body ran cold. This was what Lupin had been talking about. This was how it started. With hate crimes against those whom his society already viewed as less than human, allowed to escalate, until it was too late.

“Oy.” Charlie Weasley, nose bloodied and sleeves a little singed but no worse for wear, appeared beside Cedric, jerking him back to the present. Around them, all the Death Eaters were gone, and the remaining campers were jostling each other around, finding friends and family, assessing injuries. “Go back to your tent. Now.” 

“But…” Cedric gestured up at the Dark Mark. “We can help.”

“You’ve done more than enough,” Charlie sighed, rubbing the base of his neck. “The Dark Mark is showing out, so Aurors will be here any moment, even though they  _ couldn’t make it _ in time to help the Muggles. And you’re underage. Go back to your tent.” He paused, looking round. “Where’s your father, anyway?”

For the first time since they had left the tent, it occurred to Cedric to wonder the same thing. “I don’t actually know.”

Charlie grimaced. “Cedric, take your friends and go back to your tent. Your father is probably going to be involved in the inquest about the Mark. Get your mates out of here.”

Cedric glanced at Brian and Daisy, who were both still and pale. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good man. Go get some rest.” Charlie clapped him on the shoulder, already looking past him to Bill and some of the Hit Wizards. Before Cedric could say anything in response, Charlie had hurried away, calling ahead to Bill, asking what their next move was. 

“Let’s go,” Cedric muttered to Brian and Daisy. 

It was crashing over him in waves now -- the adrenaline, the fear. He felt his hands shaking, and he balled them into fists and shoved them into his pockets. Daisy’s gasps for air became deeper, and before Cedric knew it, they had morphed into sobs. 

 

“Hey--” Brian wrapped his arm tighter around his sister’s shoulder. “Daisy, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. It’s over.”

 

“It’s n-not,” Daisy stuttered, dragging breaths into her throat. “It’s not!”

 

“Yes, it is! Ced, tell her!” 

 

Cedric hesitated, and Brian glared at him. “C’mon!”

 

“They went somewhere,” said Cedric reluctantly, keeping his voice low so as to not attract the attention of the crowd around him. 

 

“What?”

 

“They went somewhere.” Cedric glanced around. “The Death Eaters in masks. They went somewhere when they Disapparated. They went back to their normal lives.”

 

The other two slowed to a stop, staring at him, ignoring the crowd jostling them. “What are you saying?” whispered Daisy.

 

“They have lives.” Even as Cedric said the words, he could feel the ice creeping up his throat. “They’re normal people. And after this, they’re going back to those lives, and moving through the world, and just… being normal people.”

 

Brian scoffed. “So you’re saying that Death Eaters are normal people?”

 

Cedric met his gaze. “Yes.” 

 

They stared at each other for a moment, and Cedric watched as the skepticism slid from Brian’s face, to be replaced by a chill of fear that matched his own. Daisy let out a little groan.

 

“Come on,” said Cedric, finally. “Let’s get back.”

 

They had travelled another hundred yards when the Dark Mark above them was extinguished. The absence of the flood of green light was almost as much of a shock as its presence had been, and Cedric stumbled in the new darkness as a few frightened yelps sounded around them. But neither he nor Daisy nor Brian spoke, and Cedric drew his wand and muttered “ _ Lumos _ ” so as to guide them safely back to the tent. 

 

The crowd thinned out the longer they walked, as the campers who had moved forward to help the Ministry face the Death Eaters peeled off towards their own tents, so that by the time Cedric, Brian, and Daisy got to their own campground, they were very nearly alone. Scrubbing a hand down his face, Cedric drew the tent flap back, wondering idly if there was any of the wine from earlier left.

 

“Oof,” he grunted, as something struck him in the chest as soon as he stepped into the tent.

 

“Oh -- thank God!” gasped Rinko, hugging him so tightly that he felt it in his ribs. “Thank God -- you’re all okay?” She released him only to wrap up Brian and Daisy. “You’re all right?”

 

“We’re fine, Rinko,” Cedric muttered, looking past her to where Anthony was standing, sober and pale, in the middle of the space. “What about you two?”

 

“We’re okay -- but we saw the Mark go up -- and we were so worried --”

 

A bolt of guilt shot through Cedric’s gut. It hadn’t even occurred to him to worry that the Dark Mark was being used for its intended purpose -- to signal a murder. “Is anyone…” 

 

Anthony was already shaking his head. “Not that we know of. We were in the forest when it went off, and everyone started screaming, but we could hear Ministry wizards rushing around, and eventually a call went out that no one was dead and we should all move back to the tents. That’s all we know.”

 

Cedric nodded and flopped down into an armchair, dragging a hand down his face again. “Shit.”

 

“Yeah.” Daisy perched on the love seat and curled up on herself. Cedric offered her his hand, and she took it and squeezed.

 

“Wait…” Brian frowned. “Then why did the Death Eaters messing with the Muggles Disapparate when they saw it, then? Wouldn't they be pleased?”

 

Cedric was already shaking his head. “Remember what Professor Lupin said? In that one review session where we didn’t actually get anything done?”

 

_ “Professor…” Angelina raised her hand, and then lowered it again. “Never mind.” _

 

_ Lupin raised his eyebrows. “What is it, Angelina?” _

 

_ “It’s not about the material. It can wait.” _

 

_ “That’s fine.” Lupin came around to perch on the edge of the teacher’s desk, like he always did. “We’ve got time.” _

 

_ Angelina opened her mouth, closed it, and then took a deep breath. “What happened to the Death Eaters who didn’t go to Azkaban? When the war ended?” _

 

_ Immediately, a hush spread through the room, and every eye in the room was fixed on either Angelina or Lupin -- or on the floor, Cedric noted, glancing over at Geoffrey Macnair before he could stop himself. _

 

_ Lupin sighed. “Well, I did tell you you could ask,” he muttered, almost to himself, before straightening his back and tucking his hands into his pockets. He met Angelina’s eyes and, with an air of a man choosing his words very carefully, said, “When the war ended, plenty of people came out from under the influence of the Imperius Curse. Said that they had been forced to do unspeakable things, that they’d had no control over themselves.” _

 

_ “Were they all really under the Imperius Curse?” Fred interrupted, fascinated. _

 

_ Again, Lupin hesitated. “I’m not an expert in that, but I do know that it would have been easy to use that curse as a cover for legal accountability, but it would mean disavowing any real loyalty they’d had to Lord Voldemort.” He ignored their winces. “Angelina, why do you ask?” _

 

_ She shrugged and shifted uncomfortably. “I’m just thinking -- you know, with all this news about Sirius Black -- how many other Death Eaters are out there. I can tell my parents aren’t comfortable talking about it, but I still want to know.” _

 

_ Something in Lupin’s face had closed off, but all he said was, “I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to come to me.” _

 

“Don’t you see?” Cedric asked his friends. “If these are the people Lupin was talking about -- the ones who pretended to have been Imperiused so they could go back to their normal lives -- how much trouble do you think they’d be in with You-Know-Who if it got out that they just sold him out to protect themselves?”

 

“But…” Daisy shook her head. “If they didn’t want to be associated with You-Know-Who, why were they torturing Muggles?”

 

Cedric snorted once, without humor. “You can hate Muggles and also not want to go to prison for hating Muggles at the same time, Daisy.”

 

Before anyone could respond, the flaps to the tent shuddered as a purple parchment airplane sailed through them. Reflexively, Cedric reached up to catch it, although somewhere in the twist in his stomach he already knew what it said.

 

_ Son-- _

 

_ I need to go into the Ministry. In the morning, pack up the tent, and go back home. A Portkey will be reserved for you. Don’t speak to any reporters. _

 

_ A. A. D. _

_ Director, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures _

 

Cedric crumpled up the message, staring down at the carpet. “Your father?” asked Rinko quietly.

 

“He’s gone into the Ministry,” Cedric muttered without looking up. “We’ll get ourselves back to my house tomorrow.” He stood. “We should get some sleep.”

 

He was grateful when none of them commented.

 

In fact, no one spoke at all as they all changed into pajamas and crawled into bed. Once they had all settled down and the lights were all extinguished, Cedric stared up at the canvas ceiling of the tent. He wondered if Professor Lupin had heard about what had happened. He wondered if Lupin had known he was preparing them all to fight Death Eaters -- real Death Eaters, back from the depths of history to which they had been banished.

 

He wondered if Lupin would have been proud of him.

 

He grunted to himself and rolled over, resolutely shutting his eyes. There were more important things to worry about. He had to get enough sleep to get his friends out of the campground, and back home to their families, tomorrow.


End file.
